


Up In Smoke

by keelywolfe



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Humor, Bottom Thorin, Everybody Lives, Humor, M/M, Pipe Weed Use, Porn, Shameless Smut, Universe Alteration, so much porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-02-12 06:36:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2099265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keelywolfe/pseuds/keelywolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winter is no time to be traveling over the mountains and so Bilbo finds himself staying in Erebor until spring. When a gift comes from the Shire, he's more than willing to share his prize. After all, surely a relaxing pipe of Longbottom leaf could only be good for Thorin Oakenshield....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

They had all survived and in the end, Bilbo decided, that was what was important. Not that it had been easy, nor pretty, and after seeing the aftermath of a war, he would be content to never so much as lift his sword again. Harsh words and actions seemed easier to forgive when apologies were whispered through bloodstained lips, he found, and with a dragon fallen and a common enemy driven away, it would seem his adventure was drawing to an end. 

After all, his contract had stated his title was a burglar. Somehow, he doubted such a thing would be as welcome now in Erebor with its great treasures once again held by Dwarves. Not that Bilbo had any urge to put the name to use. For some time his talents extended more to errand boy as he carried bandages and herbs where they might be needed.

By the time a solemn King was crowned, still pale from his injuries and his nephews at his side, winter had come in full force, bringing with it enormous drifts of snow and a fierce chill that made Bilbo think longingly of the warmth of his little Hobbit hole. 

Yes, his adventures were drawing to a close and there was nothing left to do of it except the part where he returned home. 

He could have traveled back to the Shire, of course. Dwarves certainly hadn't been shy about coming over the mountains in winter and caravans of traders came through often to peddle their wares. Yes, Bilbo could have traveled with them, but he was not eager to trust his safety to Men that he did not know, who eyed the golden buttons on his waistcoat with obvious greed. Dwarves were traveling to Erebor and not from it, and so he was left with the choice to either wait for spring when Gandalf would return or challenge the treacherous mountains with Men who might be equally so. At the end of the day, it was an easy choice. Going home would simply have to wait.

Bilbo wrote several letters to send back to the Shire, some that were quite short and abrupt, explaining that he was very much alive and would be returning in due course. A couple letters were longer, particularly the ones to his cousin Drogo in Buckland whom he missed deeply and his gardener, Hamfast Gamgee, explaining that he would likely not be home by spring and that he should feel free to put any plants in the garden as he liked. 

The simple act of writing to friends and family that he had not seen in some time now seemed to give him a touch of homesickness and Bilbo found himself rambling a time or two, adding short tales of his adventures and how he mourned that he'd smoked the last of his Old Toby and was now forced to make do with the pipe weed that the Dwarves preferred, which was both unpronounceable to Bilbo and nearly unsmokable as well. But in desperate times one cannot be a beggar and finicky both, Bilbo wrote, and so he took what he could find without complaint. 

For the proper amount of coin, his letters were sent along with one of the trading caravan and Bilbo forgot about them. Outside there was nothing but swirling snowstorms and great plains of cold white but there was plenty in Erebor to occupy his mind with groups of Dwarves arriving daily, along with the planning of the rebuilding of Dale. Bilbo found himself dragged along to those meetings more often than not and if Thorin offered no excuse for it, Balin was happy to comment on Bilbo's cooler head and thoughtful insight into matters. 

Nearly two months went by before the traders returned with new wares and to Bilbo's surprise, they'd also brought letters back to him. Several were terser than the ones sent and Bilbo set the one from the Sacksville-Baggins aside for a day his temper could use a rise. But from Hamfast and Drogo was not merely a letter but a small barrel, and if Bilbo hadn't known it by the sight, he would have recognized the smell in an instant. 

"Longbottom Leaf," Bilbo breathed, "Ah, you wonderful, generous scamps." The sweet, familiar scent of it brought tears to his eyes and he made a mental promise to find a suitable gift in the growing marketplace for both of them. Neither of them would be much impressed with gold but Dwarves had a way with cunning baubles and such things would be of great interest, Bilbo was sure. 

An entire barrel would last even the most indulgent of Hobbits a good long while. If he were to secret it away, he'd still have a pouch full when he returned home. And yet…there was Bofur, who'd shared his very last pipe with Bilbo while they were in the depths of Mirkwood. And Dori, who had seen Bilbo shivering in the still unwarmed halls and passages of the mountain and had knitted him a lovely scarf and mitts to keep the chill at bay. There were the extra treats that Bombur always made sure found their way to Bilbo's plate at mealtimes and Gloin who had introduced Bilbo proudly to his son and wife, as though he were someone extraordinary and not a simple Hobbit.

And there was Thorin. Thorin who did not thank Bilbo for his assistance with the Men of Laketown, many of them soon to be the Men of Dale, and yet still managed without words to convey his thanks. More than once Thorin had made an off-hand comment that an unusual book at been found in his grandfather's library and Bilbo had found himself in Thorin's sitting room at night, holding a fragile tome in reverent hands. He did not begrudge Thorin for refusing to allow him to take the books to his own room; truthfully it was becoming an unexpected pleasure to pore over such rare items with one who was more capable than Bilbo of reading them. Those long nights were an unexpected pleasure to find in the heart of a mountain.

Thorin had also shared his dwindling supply of pipe weed with Bilbo on more than one occasion, vile as it was. The more he thought on it, the more Bilbo was coming to see it as his duty to see that Thorin had a taste of real pipe weed and one he was more than happy to see done.

More so, Bilbo thought a night relaxing with a good pipe would not be amiss. His days in the Shire had not prepared him for the stresses leadership brought every day, much less for negotiating trade agreements with Men from the southern lands. Bard and his people were one thing; Bilbo never would have guessed how difficult talks would be for something as simple as food from Men who were rightfully wary of dragons and Dwarves alike. The little muscle in Thorin's jaw that leapt whenever he ground his teeth might well become a permanent tic if he weren't able to unwind from time to time. 

It wasn't as though Bilbo came up with his own things to say. He simply seemed to have a knack for translating what Dwarves _said_ to what Dwarves _meant_. Or at least he'd grasped what it was that Men wanted to hear. Over the course of the negotiations, the representatives sent by the southern lays had come to look to him with respect and with Balin's diplomatic coaxing greasing the wheels, progress was slowly being made. 

What had once been a confusing rafter of papers and nonsense demands now made nearly too much sense to Bilbo. Of all the things he'd been prepared to deal with on his adventure, economics had not been one of them and he understood all too well why at the end of some days, Thorin had taken to rubbing his temples when the Men took their leave.

Two days after Hamfast and Drogo's gift had arrived, Thorin was sitting in just such a fashion at his end of the table. Around him, the other Dwarves were gathering papers and maps, chatting softly about the day. Balin was standing with the Quartermaster, likely discussing the state of their supplies and how soon they needed to hurry along the negotiations. Everyone still busy as bees except Thorin, who had taken off his crown the moment the last Man had walked through the door. It sat at his elbow, nearly glowing with beauty, a remarkable feat of Dwarven craftsmanship and for all that Bilbo knew it was terribly heavy and probably weighed uncomfortably on the brow. 

If anyone thought poorly of Thorin's irreverence, they said not so; Bilbo was usually less fortunate when it came to askance looks but he ignored them easily enough. He'd endured enough of Dwalin's glowers over their travels that a stuffy consul was not about to cow him. Thus he paid them not a whit of attention as he settled his fingers gently at Thorin's temples, rubbing firmly to ease the tension that lingered there. Thorin's groan was low but heartfelt and he sank back in his chair to give Bilbo easier access. 

That seemed too much for other Dwarves; all of them quickly found other places to be and only Balin offered Bilbo a wink and a smile, as though he knew what was on Bilbo's mind. It fortified his courage and when Balin closed the door behind him, Bilbo took a breath and finally spoke.

"It seems to be going well," Bilbo ventured. The agreement for grains was close to its conclusion, at least. Soon enough the kitchens would have more flour for bread, oats for porridge. His stomach agreed heartily with the idea.

"Aye," Thorin said wearily, "As Balin has said. I am merely impatient with all….this." Thorin gestured peevishly at the empty chairs. "This is not the first time I've had to concede to farmers and statesmen to feed my people, but I find when we have the ability to easily pay for what we need, gaining it is now more complex instead of less."

"We'll get it settled," Bilbo soothed, digging his thumbs into nape of Thorin's neck where he could feel the strain of tension. As he expected, Thorin stiffened beneath his touch before fairly melting into it with sigh. "Come now, let it be for the night." He rubbed for another minute in silence before adding with all nonchalance, "Do you know, when the traders from the Blue Mountains returned last week, I received a package from my kin."

There was no good reason for the way Thorin tensed at that and Bilbo made a wordless scolding noise, gentling his touch. "Did you?" Thorin asked and his voice was as neutral as when he spoke to the Men in council. "Gifts from the Shire that cannot be found in Erebor?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Bilbo let his fingers slide bravely lower, dipping into the hollow between nose and eyes and rubbing gently. "Since I won't be able to return until spring at the earliest, I lamented to them in my letter that my tobacco pouch had been cursed of late with an inferior pipe weed. In sympathy, they sent me some of the finest that the South Farthing has to offer, a barrel of Longbottom leaf."

"I only understood perhaps half of that," Thorin told him wryly. "And so I will assume you have a point for telling me this?"

"Of course I do," Bilbo huffed out and he finally withdrew, ignoring Thorin's little sound of protest, to sit in the chair by him. "I'd like to share it with you, you dratted old Dwarf."

Thorin chuckled and while his eyes were yet weary, some of the strain around them seemed eased. "Offering to share your pipe weed with me? That is indeed an honor."

"More than you know," Bilbo declared loftily. He leaned in as though confiding a great secret, "Old Toby is like nothing you've ever had before. Oh, come along," Bilbo wheedled when Thorin still looked unimpressed. "Come with me and have a pipe. It'll put hair on your feet!"

"How can I resist the offer to sprout a beard on my feet as well as my face," Thorin rubbed a hand over his jaw. "You'll have all the Dwarves in the mountain pleading for their share. Enough, enough," Thorin held up a hand when Bilbo began to protest, "I'll take you up on your kind offer. But after dinner," he added with another wry smile. "I've had what Hobbits consider a proper ale and if I'm to imbibe your pipe weed, I think I'd prefer to be in my own rooms where standing can be considered optional."

A reasonable allowance, to be sure. 

And that was how Bilbo ended up in Thorin's sitting room, slumped on one of the long, cushiony sofas, pipe in one hand and the other trailing on the cool floor tiles as he smoked what was likely the best crop of leaf in this age. Perhaps of any age, Bilbo thought giddily and he puffed a ring of smoke up towards the ceiling before casting a lazy glance towards his companion. 

It could be that Dwarves simply weren't accustomed to the excellence that was Old Toby. Bilbo knew that Dwarves had a strong constitution for drink and food. Pipe weed seemed to be another story for never before had he seen Thorin sprawled out…well, anywhere. His boots had been lost somewhere, Bilbo was not sure, and his bare feet were propped on the sofa arm, toes curled on shapely carved wood and for a long moment Bilbo was memorized by the ring on one of them, twinkling in the firelight as if offering Bilbo a saucy wink. 

Blinking, Bilbo shook his head a bit to clear it. Yes, a very good crop this year. 

He let his eyes wander upward to the rest of Thorin where he lounged on the soft cushions and Bilbo couldn't help a smile at the sight of him idly stroking the velvety fabric, his pipe hand resting on an upraised knee and never had he looked so much like a King basking in decadence as this moment. 

"Did I not say this was excellent?" Bilbo asked lazily. Long minutes passed and he frowned, about to ask again when Thorin finally stirred, long lashes sweeping up to reveal dark eyes with only the thinnest rim of blue showing. 

"Aye, you did," Thorin said and it might well have been regal had he not ended it on a somewhat disturbingly high-pitched chuckle. "You did. But I did not doubt, Master Baggins, never for a moment."

"No, you didn't," Bilbo agreed, puffing out another ring of smoke. "If you had, we might well be in your throne room at this very moment and what would Balin say?"

"I can imagine easily what he would say, in very sharp words and great sighs of disappointment, before he demanded a pipe of his own."

As could Bilbo and he giggled at the idea; Balin the very picture of disapproval, shaking a stout finger at the both of them like a shrewish mother and Thorin with his head downcast, scuffing at the floor with his boots. He very nearly laughed himself straight onto the floor and it was only the knowledge that the tile stayed cold day and night kept him from collapse. 

When he finally swallowed his laughter down, he found Thorin had rolled to his side, his head propped on one hand as he watched Bilbo with bemusement. His long hair was mussed, one strand insisting on falling across his nose despite Thorin attempts at swatting it away. 

"Careful," Bilbo choked out, still shaking with an occasional snort of laughter. "If you catch your hair on fire, I'm not going to help you explain."

Thorin only gave him the haughtiest look one could manage while staring cross-eyed at an unruly strand of hair. "I've been smoking since before you were born, Halfling, and never in my life have I caught anything aflame that I did not intend."

"As you say," Bilbo took another long draw on his pipe, let the smoke escape in a thin stream. "But I'll remind you that you'll not look half as fine bald on one side."

It was an excellent crop of weed, yes, and later Bilbo would wonder if perhaps he had packed their pipes a bit tightly. Perhaps traveling through the mountain air had given it a quality Bilbo had never had from Longbottom leaf before. Whatever the reason, between puffs of sweet smelling smoke, he somehow forgot that he wasn't in Farmer Cotman's apple orchard with his cousins, lazing away a hot summer afternoon. He was in the King of Erebor's sitting room which was an entirely inappropriate place to rub a hand down his belly and sigh out. "I do wish I had someone to suck me off."

Thorin choked on the smoke as though he was taking his first pipe though it had smoothed to a chuckle by the time Bilbo had blinking some of the fog from his thoughts and worked up a frantic apology. "Indeed? I was unaware that Hobbits took to such things with all your worries about proper handkerchiefs and such."

"I should think that you would be well aware by now of a Hobbit's pursuit of pleasurable things," Bilbo sniffed. He ignored the fact that his cheeks, once pleasantly warm, were now hot coals of embarrassment. Honestly, of all things to say! 

"True," Thorin allowed. He let his head drop back against the cushions as he took another deep breath, lips pursed as he blew out a white cloud of smoke. "Tell me then, what kind of Hobbit were you thinking of kneeling at your feet?"

"Oh, I—" Bilbo floundered. He tugged at his collar with two fingers, took a moment to draw out his handkerchief and pat his sweating forehead. Now the sitting room felt entirely too warm and he rather thought it was as much Thorin asking wicked questions as it was the bright flames of the hearth. "I supposed I hadn't gotten that far."

"A random mouth in the dark?" Thorin said disapprovingly. "Surely you can do better."

"A moment, if you don't mind!" He closed his eyes, considering. "Dark hair, I think, blonds are terribly common in the Shire. Alger Brandybuck just came of age last winter, he would be a fine sight at someone's feet; a soft mouth on that one and such blue eyes," Bilbo let the picture of that fill him, dark hair and blue eyes, yes, that would be…he coughed a little, shifting a touch uncomfortably in his suddenly too-tight trousers. "Is better for your sensibilities?"

Thorin hummed approval. "You have a preference for pretty ones."

"You don't?" 

Thorin's laughter was rich and sent a deep curl of pleasure to float in Bilbo's middle. "I think you may find that a Dwarf's idea of pretty differs from your own. Although it may interest you to know that Men do not lie with each other."

That made him blink. "No?"

"No. I was taken aback myself to learn such a thing. The Men in Dale were more reasonable about such things but when we traveled west, I found more and more of that sort of abnormal thinking."

"Are Elves so backwards as that as well?" Bilbo dared to ask, his curiosity outweighing his fear of rousing Thorin's temper. 

He needn't have worried, for the pipe weed had done a proper job at mellowing him. Thorin only snorted and shook his head. "Elves do not indulge outside of marriage and then only for children. The only pleasure they allow is wine and those songs of theirs."

"Strange folk, indeed," Bilbo mused. "Preferences aside, I suppose I might be willing to try anyone kind enough to offer. Beggars cannot be choosers."

"Well do I know that."

Something in Thorin's tone made Bilbo force his eyes open to find heavy-lidded eyes watching him. His pipe was set aside in a shallow dish on the side table, a curl of smoke still rising from the bowl and Bilbo swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth, scooting up to sit properly on the sofa. "I do hope you aren't considering something rash."

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean."

"Ah, no," Bilbo shook his head firmly. "No, no, you aren't playing innocent with me and you're no beggar. If you've a taste for someone on their knees, I'm afraid it will have to be someone else, probably one with a much better beard than I can sprout."

To his relief, Thorin only chuckled, taking up his pipe instead of taking offense, and he drew in a long, slow breath before setting in free in a soft, "And you're so very sure of my tastes?"

"Not at all," Bilbo assured him and he set his own pipe aside, rubbing his eyes in sudden weariness. "But I am very sure of mine. We'd never suit, I'm afraid; I've never been fond of playing the bottom or spending time on my knees."

"Ah, then you speak untruths to me," Thorin shook his head in dismay even as Bilbo frowned at him.

"I do not!" Bilbo sat up stiffly, outraged. "I am, in fact, trying very hard not to speak any untruths to you, you—" He clapped a hand over his mouth, breathing heavily past his fingers as he glared at Thorin with unspoken words heavy on his tongue. 

Thorin ignored his glare utterly, the tip of his tongue swiping lightly across his upper lip before he said, very precisely. "I believe it was you who only just said that beggars cannot be choosers."

Bilbo could only stare, caught between temper and flabbergasted, "But…you're a king!"

"Indeed I am. I am also a blacksmith, a harpist, I prefer my right hand to my left though I use both in battle and I have never liked roast mutton. I fail to see how any of those things have anything to do with my knees or my arse."

And while Bilbo cast about for a single word, for what was there to _say_ to that, Thorin slouched back against the sofa cushions, eyes sliding closed. "I might be willing to demonstrate, but as I feared, I am unable to walk."

"You—" Bilbo hissed out a breath between his teeth and while Thorin couldn't see him, reached down and pressed the heel of his hand against his treacherous cock where it had risen hopefully against his trousers. "You wretched tease! If there are any untruths being spoken this night, they are from you!"

"Not so," Thorin sighed, one eye stealing open. "But if you want me to suck you, I'm afraid you'll have to bring your prick to me."

"You've lost your mind," Bilbo said wonderingly. "You must have done. Hobbiton's pipe weed is obviously beyond the endurance of Dwarves because we have always been, well, not always, but I'd like to think that we are now what could be called friends. And you're offering to suck me off."

"I was until you began insulting my endurance."

Bilbo chewed his lower lip, considering. "Do you mean it?" he asked, his voice seemed terribly small in a very large room. No answer was forthcoming, only the crackle of the hearth and Thorin's quiet breathing. 

The distance between the two sofas had somehow grown since they'd sat down that night and Bilbo swore going to Dale was an easier walk. His feet kept trying to tangle with each other, made clumsy by a mixture of eagerness and trepidation, and Bilbo could taste sweat beading on his upper lip. 

Thorin, the wretch, had not even opened his eyes. He simply lay sprawled on the sofa as he had been only instead of a rare moment of relaxation now the easy spread of his legs, the bareness of his feet, all seemed an invitation to the very sort of debauchment that Bilbo had been daydreaming about. 

Bare feet, hm, yes, Bilbo couldn't recall ever seeing Thorin without heavy boots. Perhaps on their journey, for the Dwarves had all bathed from time to time, but in those moments Bilbo had been more concerned with icy water and his own chilled skin. 

Now, in this sitting room that was suddenly entirely too warm, he could take a moment and admire Thorin's sturdy foot. Blunt toes, the nails neatly trimmed, and the curve of the insole begged for a thumb to stroke up it, making those toes curl. There was the lightest of fuzz on his instep, leading to a strong ankle and without thinking, Bilbo reached out and wrapped a hand around it, felt the bony knobs of his ankle shift as Thorin moved and, oh, dear, let his knee drop so his legs were sprawled apart, his trousers drawn tight against his calves, his thighs. 

It was all so terribly tempting, and yet..."If you are having a joke on me—" Bilbo began, tightly. 

Only to trail off as Thorin finally opened his eyes, revealing languid heat in deep blue depths. "Bilbo," Thorin said, gently, and Bilbo shivered, a bone-deep tremor at hearing his name caressed in that smoky voice. "Come here."

Dumbly, Bilbo followed the command, scrambling onto the sofa, and Thorin, as graceless a duckling far from water. Large hands helped him, settling him astride Thorin's chest even as Thorin shifted, moving, and Bilbo felt a sizzling moment of trepidation, cradled in Thorin's lap in this way. He hadn't been lying when he'd said he did not prefer to bottom and yet, he couldn't help but wonder if he might not want to refuse if Thorin tried persuading him. Not his preference but surely if there was only to be once—

His worries were set aside with stuttering swiftness for instead of catching him by the hips and grinding him down into the bulge that Bilbo suspected was beneath his backside, Thorin urged him further up, until he could bury his face into the softness of Bilbo's belly. His bracers were no barrier at all, tugged quickly out of the way and his shirt jerked roughly from his trousers until he was left gasping at the feel of a thick Dwarven beard pressed into his bare skin, a wet mouth pressed hungrily to his navel, as if seeking the very taste of him. 

"Oh!" Bilbo huffed out, surprised, flailing for a place to put his hands. He settled on Thorin's arms, felt the hard bulge of his biceps beneath the thin silk of his shirt as he lifted Bilbo higher, his mouth hot and wet as he lapped a path lower, following the fine trail of hair down to the barrier of Bilbo's trousers. 

"Open them," Thorin demanded, and Bilbo obeyed his command mindlessly, popping the buttons with his thumb. Gingerly, he tugged down his smallclothes, letting his cock bob free and already it was wet at the tip, hard and eager for the mouth Thorin had teasingly offered. 

There was nothing as gentle as teasing in the mouth that closed over him, nothing less than hungry as Thorin took him deeply in and his groan as he swallowed Bilbo down was answered in a cry strangled from Bilbo's throat. Strong arms circled his hips, pulling him in, _dragging_ him in, and Thorin sucked him with a voraciousness that edged on pain, a sweet pain that dragged pleasure up his spine and sent his vision to little more than dots dancing before his eyes. 

"Ah, please," Bilbo croaked out, blind to anything but the feel of it, the force of Thorin's grip rocking him into the dark heat of his mouth. Somehow, he'd managed to get two handfuls of Thorin's hair tangled around his fingers, pulling helplessly. Thorin only growled deep in his throat at the sharp tug and Bilbo choked out a near scream at the vibration of it, his vision blanking white. "Oh, I can't…I can't….Thorin!"

The moment his name fell from Bilbo's lips, he stilled, his mouth going lax, and Bilbo let out a snarl that might well have embarrassed him at any other moment, shifting his hips against the iron grip of Dwarven hands and thumping Thorin on the head and shoulders. "Don't…don't you _stop_ , you horrible…! You wretched, cruel prick-tease!"

His insults fell on deaf ears and he wailed aloud as Thorin released him entirely, his wet lips barely brushing the slick head as he murmured, "Say my name again."

"I…what?" Bilbo said, baffled, his eyes drooping as Thorin licked a slippery circle over the head of his prick…and then shook him, hard enough to snap Bilbo's head back and jar him to sense. 

"Say my name!" And this time, teeth grazed warningly, a sharp enough pinch that Bilbo yelped, scrabbling for another handful of hair. No amount of tugging gained him an inch of control and Bilbo could do nothing more than cup Thorin's head in his hands.

"Thorin," he whimpered out, sighing on a long breath as he was instantly gifted with the wet sleekness of his mouth again. "Thorin, ah, yes, that's lovely, you're lovely, don’t stop, Thorin, please, don't…" An endless stream of inane babble sprinkled with moans and always, always, his name, falling helpless from his mouth as Thorin suckled him strongly, swallowing around him and it was too much to bear, more than anyone could be expected to withstand. Bilbo came with a harsh cry, one last call of, "Thorin!"

Hard hands flexed on his backside, holding him in as he spilled over the eager stroke of Thorin's tongue, once, twice, writhing against his grip in a useless little circle, struggling as Thorin's mouth flexed around him, swallowing him down. Bilbo's breath hissed out through his teeth in a long, strained groan, every bit of his focus on the wet heat around him. Slowly, the clutch of his hands relaxed, settling hot and shaky into the silk of Thorin's hair and Bilbo was suddenly aware of everything, the loud, quick sound of Thorin breathing through his nose, the quiver of his dark lashes against his cheeks, the way his cheeks hollowed and filled, visible even through his beard as he sucked, his mouth going gentler, languid, as Bilbo softened.

And still, Thorin did not let him go, even when Bilbo winced with sensitivity. Finally, Bilbo husked out, his voice dry and cracked, "That's…that's enough…Thorin…"

For one brief, frozen moment Bilbo thought Thorin would keep a hold of him, ignore all protests and suck him until he hardened again, until he came again, sobbing raggedly, his quivering limbs ragdoll loose, until he finally collapsed into an exhausted sleep. Then the moment passed and Thorin reluctant allowed him to slip free, though he nosed lightly at Bilbo's softened cock, pressed light kisses that made Bilbo jump and hiss. 

"Enough," Bilbo repeated, wearily, and he found Thorin's grip loosened enough to allow him to sink back into his lap. He groaned aloud at the protests in his thighs, muscles firmly annoyed with such late night calisthenics. It was only when his own breathing had evened out that he realized Thorin was still panting harshly, his head resting on Bilbo's shoulder, and the firm budge he had suspected was very much in evidence against his backside. 

"Ah, let me," Bilbo shifted, reaching between them only to blink in surprise as Thorin took hold of his hands firmly. Baffled, he squirmed, trying to catch Thorin's eye only to be thwarted when he refused to raise his head. "Come now, you can't possibly be shy after that."

"I am not _shy_ ," snarled into his shoulder and from the sound of it, it came through gritted teeth. "But I would not ask of you what you are unwilling to give."

"Unwilling—of all the ridiculous ideas," Bilbo huffed out indignantly. Here he was astride a Dwarf, no, a King of Dwarves, with his trousers undone and his pulse still throbbing in his ears, and he was being accused of unwillingness?

"You do not play the bottom," Thorin reminded him, "And you prefer not to spend time on your knees."

"That hardly means I'm all that selfish!" Bilbo protested, trying and failing to squirm lose from Thorin's grip.

"I'd prefer no pleasure to one reluctantly offered." 

"All right, that does it!" Bilbo wriggled off Thorin's lap completely, standing with his hands on his hips as he glared at a King…who had not yet looked at him. "I'm not reluctantly offering anything, not any bit more than you were and I'd like to think you weren’t averse." His foggy pipe weed calm was already fading and Bilbo snatched up Thorin's pipe, took in a long, soothing puff and held it before handing it to Thorin. "That's better. Now, where is your bedroom?"

At least Thorin was looking at him now, his brow creased. "It’s down the hallway, but as I told you, I don't believe I can walk and you are not likely to be able to carry me."

Bilbo was already walking, and not staggering, thank you, not at all, down the hallway. "I agree, that's not likely, so I suppose I'll have to bring the bed to you."

The bedroom was every bit as grand as Bilbo would have expected for the King of Erebor. Ceilings loomed out of sight into the darkness though a well-built fire was laid in the hearth, casting its warm glow over the elaborate furnishings. The bed was an enormous affair, large enough for most of the Company to have sprawled out in comfort, piled high with thick blankets and heavy furs and wasn't that a thing he shouldn't be imagining tonight of all nights. 

Bilbo managed to pull an armful of them from the bed, hauling them back down the hallway with the bulk of it dragging behind him. He wrangled them determinedly to the hearth where a heavy rug already lay, and while it was perfectly serviceable for feet, it was not at all so for what Bilbo intended.

Thorin eyed him doubtfully from the sofa, mumbling around the stem of his pipe, "You are going to start a round of strange rumors amongst those in the laundry."

"They could use a little saucy gossip." With the skill of one used to such comforts, Bilbo piled the blankets into a cozy nest, making sure it was close enough to the fire to feel its warmth without catching aflame themselves. He swept both hands over its softness before nodding firmly. "There we are then!"

He turned back to Thorin and perhaps one slightly less observant, one who knew Thorin not quite as well as Bilbo had come to know him, might think him asleep. His lashes were shadows on his cheeks, his pipe still cupped in a lax hand. Yet Bilbo could well see that his breathing was still ragged and the bulge in his trousers was blatant. 

"Thorin," Bilbo said, then repeated it louder, as he took the pipe and set it aside before they burned the mountain down. His lashes swept up, deep blue peering out at Bilbo from beneath them. Bilbo crooked a finger in front of those eyes in a 'come hither' fashion. "Come along, then."

Thorin groaned aloud, "I told you, I cannot walk. Are you so determined to ruin my bed linens?"

"Yes," Bilbo said, simply, for Thorin's voice was still hoarse, his lips still swollen and the lingering afterglow was still tingling pleasantly in his limbs. With a single finger, Bilbo traced Thorin's mouth, letting it rest on his lower lip as he added, lightly, "I shouldn't like to miss an opportunity to see you properly on your knees."

"You may get your chance." The softest flick of a tongue against his fingertip as Thorin wet his lips, then he was heaving himself to his feet with a loud groan, stumbling the two steps it took to get to the blankets. His relieved sigh as he sank into the fire-warmed furs was heartfelt and Bilbo could only manage a bit of pique that Thorin had stretched out on his belly. 

"Oh, you aggravating old Dwarf," Bilbo muttered, "If you think you're stopping me, I am about to prove you wrong."

"Bilbo." His name, spoken so clearly without a hint of sleepiness, took Bilbo aback. Thorin had his head pillowed on his arms and his gaze was sharp enough, his eyes a liquid gleam in the dimness. "Let it be."

"Why?" Bilbo challenged. With a care, he slid to his knees, crawling over Thorin's prone form despite his low grunt of protest when Bilbo settled his weight atop him. Almost reluctantly, those strong thighs parted, giving Bilbo room to snug in between his legs. It was like resting on warm stone, Thorin wonderfully solid beneath him. 

With a sigh, Bilbo pressed his nose between Thorin's shoulder blades and breathed in the smell of him. Soap and faint sweat, the fresh, green aroma of pipe weed, and even through the thin silk of his tunic he could smell what he could only describe as Thorin and never mind that he knew precisely what Thorin smelled like. His hair was a wild tangle down his back and Bilbo propped himself up on an elbow, stroking a hand down the length of it, softer even than the shirt. He let his hand drift lower, trailing along Thorin's side and he felt the shift of muscle beneath him as Thorin inhaled, the shaky release as Bilbo worked his hand beneath him, past the hollow of his hip to rest low on his belly. 

"Bilbo," Thorin groaned and he shifted suddenly, his hips rising in a demand that Bilbo was more than willing to answer. Even through the heavy cloth of two sets of trousers Bilbo could feel the firmness of his backside and he rocked against it thoughtlessly, hissing at the sweet burn of friction. His cock was already rising again, as surely tempted as Bilbo was and his hand wandered lower, wrapped around the hard length still concealed by Thorin's trousers. 

Beneath him, Thorin jerked, a low, dark word escaping him and Bilbo could only imagine it was a curse, and still Bilbo pushed against him, riding the bunched up fabric of their trousers and imagined what it would feel like. 

"Are you going to let me have you?" Bilbo asked, hoarsely, watching avidly as Thorin shuddered beneath him, burying his face into the crook of his arm. "Are you?" Bilbo pushed his hips against Thorin relentlessly, fingering him through his heavy trousers. "I won't play the bottom, as I've said, but you're the one who raised questions about your arse."

Another hissed word, bitten off, and Thorin was rising up into every push, grinding up against Bilbo and his curse was louder as Bilbo rose up on his knees, refusing to allow it. "Are you the one offering empty promises, then, _Dwarf_?"

Perhaps it was best that Bilbo did not speak Khuzdûl, for he imagined the very walls would have cringed away from the harsh words Thorin spat at him. He rose up on his elbows from the furs and with the light of the fire spilling over him, coloring him in flames, Thorin glared at him with the dark eyes of some daemon. "Do you think you can _take_ me, Halfling?" Thorin growled, his breath hissing between his clenched teeth.

And Bilbo fumbled both shaking hands beneath him, loosening Thorin's trousers and yanking them down his thighs in quick, rude jerks. Bilbo took his hips in his damp, trembling hands and pulled, tugging Thorin properly to his knees. He could taste his own sweat, feel it stinging in his eyes. 

Bravado was all well and good but Bilbo was under no illusions that he could force Thorin to move a single inch if he did not wish it. That he willingly followed the tug of Bilbo's hands made him catch his breath, and for one single moment Bilbo understood the sickening pull of the dragon sickness. The sight of Thorin kneeling in front of him, strong thighs spread as wide as his binding trousers allowed and his head on his folded arms, spilling the heavy length of his hair across the furs was as lovely as anything Bilbo had ever seen and in that moment he had the greedy wish that no other would ever see Thorin thus. This sight was for him alone and Bilbo bit his lip, tasting thin iron as he gingerly pushed Thorin's tunic up to bare more of that precious skin. Deep blue silk against flame-tinted gold and finally Bilbo closed his eyes, gasping in ragged, cooling breaths before he could come in his own trousers. 

"I…I need…" Bilbo mumbled, mentally clawing for a grip on the cliffs of sanity that were crumbling beneath him and Thorin's swearing was a hoarse shout.

"You have me on my knees so _take me_ ," Thorin ground out, his voice raw and aching. 

"But—" Bilbo let out a near sob of relief as he opened his own trousers, kicking them hastily away and the feel of his cock sliding between the cheeks of Thorin's arse made his eyes roll back, ah, but—but— "I haven't any…you aren't…"

"Bilbo!" It was the desperation, the need couched in his name that made Bilbo fumble a hand down, guiding himself to the entrance hidden there. The push was difficult, too dry, too tight, and Bilbo grit his teeth until his jaw ached, pushing, pushing, driving the slick head against until tight muscle until it gave and he was abruptly inside, one hard, smooth drive in to the hilt. 

He felt Thorin give a choked cry, his body tightening infinitesimally against the intrusion. Both of his hands were clenched in the furs, broad knuckles whitened, and Bilbo could do nothing more than keep terribly still, the smoothness of Thorin's backside against his hips a strange temptation of its own. 

"Oh," Bilbo groaned out. The urge to move was close to overwhelming, to drive into that tightness, but his concern kept him from it. Carefully, he drew back out, both of them hissing at the friction. "A…a moment…we need…"

"Here," Thorin grabbed at his hand and Bilbo almost froze in shock as the sound that followed, along with a sudden wetness in his palm. Ah, well, yes, he supposed that would help and he ignored the heat in his cheeks as he spat into his palm as well, smoothing the wetness down his cock. 

There was no resisting the impish impulse to spread Thorin's cheeks wide with his thumbs and he spat again, smearing it against the tiny, abused hole. Thorin moved restlessly and Bilbo pushed harder, easing the tip of his thumb inside. For a moment he only watched, biting at his lip as his thumb slowly disappeared, pushing inward and Thorin only struggled to spread his thighs wider, chuffing out choked, desperate moans.

"All right," Bilbo muttered, senselessly, drawing his thumb free and pressing the head of his prick against the slightly loosened entrance. The slide inside was easier but barely, thin spit hardly easing the way. This time Thorin met his thrust with a hard push of his own hips, rocking back on his knees and Bilbo could only clutch at him, for the thread of his control was little more than a spider's web and it snapped at Thorin low, whimpering cry of, "Please!"

Stopping was an impossibility, the hot clench of Thorin's body seemed to drag him in, urging him to thrust harder, struggling to get deeper still, the slap of his hips against Thorin's arse a counterpoint to the rhythm building between them. With desperate, grasping hands Bilbo caught hold of Thorin's tunic, twisting the sodden fabric in his fists as he drove in harder. His only thought was of the heat of Thorin around him, his mind gone dumb and greedy and eager, and Bilbo only knew that he wanted more. 

Through slit eyes Bilbo watched the bunch of muscles in Thorin's shoulders as he braced himself, palms flat against the floor and it sent a burning flare of lust through him. To know that Thorin was braced against him, that Bilbo was close to driving him into the blankets and he rammed in harder still, forcing his clenched hand to release fabric and instead threaded into sweat-damp curls. His yank was mindlessly rough and Thorin followed it with a yelp, scrambling to kneel astride Bilbo's lap and both of them moaned at the sudden shift. 

"Yes," Bilbo moaned, pushing up against Thorin's weight. He dug his short nails into Thorin's thighs, scratched red lines into the pale skin as he rasped out, "So concerned with what I want. You should…uh!...you should ask yourself, King Under the Mountain, if _you_ can take _me_."

There was no answer to that past a hoarse cry and Bilbo caught at Thorin's hips, guiding them in a rough circle that changed angle and rhythm both, sliding in deeper still. The sound Thorin made was utterly shocked, hands flailing back, scrabbling at Bilbo, clutching at his hands where they gripped him.

"Yes!" Thorin burst out, guttural and desperate, his fingers so fierce against Bilbo's that he dimly suspected that his hands would be bruised from it. Thorin, never one to be obedient, ignored Bilbo's rhythm and chose one of his own, spreading his knees wider still, rolling his hips down to meet Bilbo's upward thrust. Inside, he was hotter than the great forges and still unbearably tight, hardly loosened enough for Bilbo to move within him. "Harder!" Thorin demanded, his voice cracked and rough. 

A command that Bilbo was more than willing to obey and he dug his nails in and thrust up harder yet, basking in the sound Thorin made, torn between a yelp and a plea, broken off on a thick curse. With an effort, Bilbo freed one hand, groping blindly between Thorin's spread legs and finding the hot length of him, palming it roughly, stroking down even as he pushed up. Perfect, Bilbo thought dimly, resting his cheek against Thorin's back. His tunic was ruined, sodden with sweat, more dripping from the ends of his hair, and so wonderfully perfect, the flex of muscle visible beneath the dark, wet silk as he rolled his hips back, riding Bilbo's cock.

Bilbo swore beneath his breath, put a hand between Thorin's shoulder blades and pushed with all his strength and even that wouldn't have been enough to move him if Thorin hadn't been willing. He bent beneath Bilbo's wordless command like a willow branch in a storm, falling to his elbows as graceless as Bilbo had ever seen him. It was easier with Thorin on his belly, even with him twisting and lunging back against Bilbo, easier to clutch his hips and close his eyes and take.

Pleasure was crawling up his spine and his legs were shaking with the effort, and still Bilbo might have been able to last if it weren't for the sounds Thorin was making. Low, raw noises punched out of him with every thrust, deep and wordless, and each was filled with desperate need, a plea for more that with a last shudder, Bilbo lost the ability to grant.

Coming was like falling from a cliff, the world crumbling beneath him and sending him in a spiral of red-tinged darkness behind his eyes, burying himself into Thorin one last, faltering time and holding there deep inside, spilling into him with jerky spasms. He was shivering by the time he knelt back, nearly falling into the rucked up blankets, and Thorin rolled over to lay on his back, his eyes dark and wild and his cock heavy between his legs. 

One large hand skated down his belly, over the dark curls of hair tight with dampness, and closed around his length, stroking with fierce desperation. Bilbo watched mutely, watching his mouth form moans than never fell free, his breathing quick and finally the thought made it through his pleasure-addled brain to help him. He'd only just settled a tentative hand over Thorin's, his fingers sliding over taut knuckles, when Thorin arched up and came, spilling hot over both of their hands. 

Bilbo only watched, mesmerized, as Thorin collapsed back into the blankets, his every breath like a moan. His knees were still wide, his skin gleaming sweat in the firelight, and when Thorin finally moved it was to kick his trousers off, leaving him in only his ruined shirt. There was a pale line of semen across the blue silk and Bilbo reached out thoughtlessly to touch it, tracing it downward. Only to startle when Thorin caught his hand and he found eyes as blue as the silk watching him, unwavering even as Thorin raised Bilbo's hand to his mouth, rubbing his lips over the knuckles.

His gentleness was disarming and Bilbo swallowed thickly, wishing that either of their pipes were closer. The gentle relaxation of the pipe weed was little more than a sweet smell in the air, mingled with the heavier scent of their sex, and in his mind was one thought, clear as a bell; this was not at all what he'd intended to happen when he'd offered Thorin a smoke, that was certain.

Whatever enchantment the feel of Thorin's mouth against his fingers had wrought upon him was abruptly broken when Thorin yawned hugely, muffling it with Bilbo's palm as if it was his own. Bilbo chuckled reluctantly and took his hand back to draw the blankets up. Though from the state of them, he suspected the laundry workers would have plenty of gossip on the next washing day.

He hadn't intended to curl up against Thorin's side but the choice was taken away from him handily by Thorin wrapping an arm around him and pulling him in. "All right," Bilbo grumbled, settling against him. To his amusement, Thorin burrowed in against him like a needy cat, his head settling naturally into the curve of Bilbo's shoulder and a knee sliding between Bilbo's to tangle their legs together. He was mumbling almost beneath his breath words that Bilbo could not hope to understand, even if he had spoken the language. 

"Hush," Bilbo soothed, raising a hesitant hand to the damp tangle of hair that was clinging to them both. With careful strokes, he smoothed the length of it out, combing his fingers through the strands. He'd never really had the chance to appreciate hair such as this; male Hobbits kept theirs at a decent length, nothing at all like the heavy masses that Dwarves kept atop their heads and on their chins. It was silkier against his palm than his own, clinging to his fingertips as he stroked his hand down it. 

It was the first quiet snore that startled him into realizing Thorin had fallen asleep. Bilbo locked his laughter behind his teeth and let his hand settle. He drew back a little, enough that he was able to see the play of the firelight over Thorin's face. He looked weary, Bilbo decided, the lines at the corners of his eyes deeper, as though kingship had carved into him with reckless tools. 

Tonight at least he would surely sleep well and if this was not quite the way Bilbo had sought to relax him, well, he couldn't argue with the results. Thorin slept heavily, not even murmuring a protest when Bilbo finally squirmed away from him. He took a moment to settle the blankets over Thorin, tucking them here and there until he was well covered. Ridiculous, he supposed. The hearth was well-banked and he'd never seen a Dwarf flinch from the cold yet. 

It didn't stop him from ensuring that not a single draft of chilly air would disturb Thorin's sleep. For a moment longer, Bilbo knelt there, his toes toasting pleasantly from the hearth as he silently gazed down at Thorin. Not at all what he'd intended this night, but he'd done less with worse friends. Maudlin thoughts were crowding in and Bilbo shook them away firmly, climbing to his feet with the very silence Gandalf had so proudly declared his finest burglary talent. He dressed quickly, and took the time to tap out their pipes, setting Thorin's properly in its stand and tucking his own into his coat pocket. There was no clock in the sitting room but Bilbo didn't need one to guess that the hour was late and he'd best be making his way back to his own rooms. Thorin might have forgiven him for his theft of the Arkenstone but Bilbo had gotten the idea that not all Dwarves were quite as willing to so easily pardon him. If he were to come tumbling out of the King's rooms in yesterday's rumpled clothes with his hair a tousled mess and a silly grin on his face, he did not have to imagine it would not help his standing with the Dwarves of Erebor.

A last lingering glance told him that Thorin hadn't twitched from beneath the blankets and Bilbo heaved a quiet sigh and took his leave. He did stop to gather up his tobacco pouch. Somehow, he didn't like the idea of Thorin smoking Longbottom leaf without him. 

The door was silent on its hinges when he crept out, closing it with as much care as he could. Ten steps from the door were the night guard and Bilbo nodded to them as courteously as he could, trying to look as though he had not just spent the evening debauching their King in all ways possible. That he got neither a nod nor even a raised eyebrow in return was no surprise. Bilbo had long since learned it was considered the mark of an excellent Guard to stand as if they were statues themselves. 

Halfway to his own room, Bilbo took a moment light his pipe again, drawing in a heady lungful of Old Toby. He let it wash over him, drawing away the mawkish thoughts that threatened. Two puffs and he decided a late night snack was in order and he hummed beneath his breath on the way to the kitchens, leaving any untoward thoughts behind him.

 

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pictures!! A few wonderful artists have done some brilliant artwork for this series. Please, give these artists some love and tell them how wonderful they are!
> 
> Please see the lovelies by Inchells and Rutobuka2:  
> http://keelywolfe.tumblr.com/post/108798216608/inchells-rutobuka2-and-i-along-with-others
> 
> And have a look at this brilliant set by Radiorcrist:  
> http://keelywolfe.tumblr.com/post/109098382608/radiorcrist-this-was-interesting-to-draw-ahaha
> 
> And here is a last lovely picture of our two boys sharing a smoke by isildurs—bane:  
> http://keelywolfe.tumblr.com/post/109257978988/isildurs-bane-a-quick-one-i-really-loved-the


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

The next morning he had cause to regret his indulgences. 

There were no windows in his bedroom for sunlight to creep through. He'd found it disconcerting at first, well used to Bag End's cheery windows and the call of cockerels waking him at dawn. Even on their travels, the rising sun was difficult to miss when it lay before him and even a rainy day offered more light than the depths of a mountain. 

But on a morning such as this, Bilbo had reason to be grateful that the sun was hidden away. The cruel, cruel sun. The thunderous ache that spoke of far too little sleep was making a home behind his eyes and his mouth was cottony and dry. Too much pipe weed and too little sleep, ah, that should be the bane of the youthful, Bilbo thought ruefully, and he made an attempt at rolling over to sink back into sleep. 

Unfortunately, the cause of his awakening was still standing at the foot of his bed. 

"Bilbo! Bilboooo," His bane called, drawing his name out into a whine, "Wake up!"

Bilbo groaned and tugged his pillow over his head. "Go away!" he ordered, muffled through feathers and linen. 

That voice, which was entirely too cheery for such an ungodly hour Bilbo noticed resentfully, ignored him. "Come along, wake up! You're late, Mister Boggins."

"It's Baggins, as you well know," Bilbo said, disgruntled. "Why on earth are you troubling me at this hour, Kíli? Don't you have some sort of training or princely thing that needs doing?" He twirled a hand in a gesture of general ignorance. 

"As a matter of fact, I do."

Bilbo let out a squeal of outrage as his blankets were snatched away, drawing his knees up to his chest in a futile attempt to keep both warmth and modesty. "What are you doing? Give those back!"

Kíli's grin was unashamed, "Can't do that, now can I. You told me yourself to do my princely duty and what I am supposed to be doing is getting you out of bed."

"At this hour?" Bilbo groaned. He sat up in surrender, tucking his hands into the voluminous folds of his nightshirt. "What on earth can they be on about before breakfast?"

"Before breakfast?" Kíli repeated incredulous. He scrambled up on the bed, blankets and all, ignoring Bilbo's outraged squawks as he scooted to sit next to Bilbo, wrapping them both in the still-warm bedding. "You must be ill, it's closer to luncheon than breakfast. I never thought I would see the day you weren't first at the table."

A large Dwarf hand that probably wasn't as clean as it could be was smacked against his forehead in search of a fever. Bilbo pushed it away impatiently, though he was happier for the return of his blankets. 

"I am not ill, I was only up too late last night," Bilbo groaned out. "And you are tracking dirt on my bed linens; do get your boots back on the floor where they belong."

Obediently, Kíli swung his feet over the side of the bed to dangle. That he also squirmed down to lay his head in Bilbo's lap was less appreciated, looking up with falsely wide eyes. "Oohh, up too late, were we? Off to the red lantern district, were you, gathering up a few more tales to tell the folks back home."

"Oh, for blessed sake," Bilbo huffed out, shoving Kíli off him. "Even if Erebor had a red lantern district, which it does not, and even if I were to visit it, which I would not, I hardly think I'd be writing letters back home crowing about any antics that might have happened." He gave Kíli his very best glare, not that it dimmed his grin a whit. "Why would they send you to wake me? What unkindness have I ever done to deserve such a fate?"

Kíli gave a good-natured shrug. "Someone had to wake you up! Fíli could have but Thorin wants him to keep a close watch on the negotiations, good practice and all that," Kíli ticked each off on a finger. "Balin might've but he thought that leaving the two of them alone would be…I believe he said a wretched idea that would bring about the end of the Kingdom."

"Clever of Balin," Bilbo said wryly.

"And Dwalin wasn't about to leave any of them alone with all those Men, so that left me!" Kíli finished triumphantly. He leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, "To be honest, I wasn't paying much attention anyway. I might have ended the Kingdom by staying."

"Indeed." Bilbo yawned, stretching, and finally let the blankets fall back slightly, knuckling some of the dryness from his eyes. 

"Does that mean you're getting up?" Kíli gave Bilbo a narrow look that made him look closer to his age, his tone sly. "I was given permission to use stern measures, if necessary."

"Were you indeed?"

"Aye," Kíli grinned happily. "If you don't get up, I'm allowed to take the breakfast tray I brought for you and eat it myself!"

Then he only huffed in surprise and his laughter rang through the room when Bilbo threw the blankets over his head and darted to the sitting room. By his stomach's grumbling, one lost meal was more than enough.

* * *

Despite Kíli's teasing, there was a great spread of food laid out in Bilbo's sitting room, freshly polished covers over filled plates and steam billowed from beneath when Bilbo lifted it and inhaled the lovely fragrances of a well put together meal. Rashers of bacon were coyly tucked in next to lush eggs, hills of potatoes beside both. Another dish held stewed berries and a plate of fluffy biscuits, alongside a mound of clotted cream. 

There was even a tiny dish of the candies that Dwarves enjoyed after every meal, mints so strong that Bilbo's eyes had watered when he dared sample them. He wrinkled his nose as Kíli plucked one from the dish and stuck it under his tongue, but said nothing. Bilbo was hardly one to argue against the merits of fresh breath. 

Still, he preferred to indulge in his own plate and he ate hugely, if somewhat guiltily. If the trade negotiations had taught him one thing it was that at the moment, the Dwarves had little in their stores to indulge in. He hardly believed that those living in the crumbling barracks and even tents were eating nearly as well. 

Guilt was of little use, though, when the food was already here and Bilbo was going to make the most of it. 

Breakfast was a unique meal; furthest separated from all others and it greeted the emptiest bellies, drew awake the foggiest minds. As Bilbo ate what had graciously been offered, his lingering sleepiness finally slipped away like morning fog, and the events of the night before came into his thoughts far clearer and with very little provocation. 

Thorin was going to kill him, Bilbo decided, catching a dribble of berry juice that had escaped its biscuit transport and sought to escape down his wrist. He licked it away, sighing at the burst of sweetness and refusing a jot or tittle of guilt over etiquette. Kíli was hardly one to talk and not likely to spread gossip about Bilbo's table manners, and besides, it scarcely mattered because Thorin was going to kill him over last night, over the pipe weed and the…the…over everything. 

Not that it was Bilbo's fault and he would be sure to argue that point right up until he had his head on a chopping block. 

How did he get into these messes, Bilbo wondered, even as he slathered more berries and cream onto a second biscuit, sinking his teeth in with a muffled moan. His intention had only been to offer Thorin a distraction, a respite. One single moment to relax where he wouldn't have the eyes of an entire Kingdom upon him.

Instead, they'd shared something highly impractical and likely a detriment to their friendship. Bilbo had bedded a close friend a time or two in the past and never had the acquaintance been better for it. Hobbits enjoyed their comforts, true, but the pleasures of the flesh were best savored with someone that one wouldn't have to tiptoe around awkwardly till the end of days.

But perhaps Thorin would not be like that. Perhaps, he would of a more practical bend and their friendship would flourish rather than suffer from one night of indulgence. Yes, and perhaps more of these lovely berries would fall from the sky and into the mouths of the hungry Dwarves at the gate, Bilbo thought wryly. It seemed just a likely. 

A sudden nudge at his elbow nearly led Bilbo to dropping his fork; as it was, the bite of eggs upon it fell back to his plate with a splat. Bilbo favored Kíli with a glare and rescued the unfortunate tidbit. "Am I boring you?" Bilbo asked with mock politeness.

Kíli shrugged, plucking up another mint from the dish. "Not me. I was only wondering how long you were going to be at it."

"Likely until I'm finished," Bilbo moved on to the potatoes; it was a rare thing but he did believe that the cook made a better job of frying potatoes than he did. He'd have to chase down the recipe before he left in the spring. 

"Mmm," Kíli hummed, flopping into the chair on the other side of the table. He righted himself before Bilbo could even complete his glare, boots properly on the floor, before he added, "I was just wondering how impatient the others were going to get before they sent someone after us."

His last bite nearly lodged in his throat and Bilbo swallowed it down thickly, chasing it with a slurp of tea before rasping out, "Others?"

Kíli bobbed his head like a daisy in the wind, offering a sly smile. "The others, in the negotiations? Uncle refused to begin without you, so they are all waiting on us." Kíli leaned in, not seeming to notice Bilbo's sudden stillness as he added, conspiratorially, "I'm not sure if you noticed, but most people tend to listen when he says things."

"You—" Bilbo broke off, snatching up his teacup and draining it before dashing back to his bedroom. Clothes, he needed clothes, and a hairbrush, and when he had a free moment, a chance to murder a Dwarf whose laughter was following him back. "I am blaming you for this!"

"I wouldn't have it any other way!" Kíli called back and his chuckles chased Bilbo to the washroom.

* * *

For all his mischief, Kíli was right on Bilbo's heels as they hurried through the long hallways and stairwells down to the main halls. Erebor was still little more than a shadow of the former glory Balin assured him that it had been, but they had managed to clear out some of the dust and dank, and made a proper chamber to meet with the Men.

Everything in Erebor had a name, this Hall and that; according to Balin, they were negotiating in the Hall of the Seven Kings. He'd told Bilbo in reverent tones, casting his gaze up at the large statues that looked down on them with stone eyes. Bilbo had managed to be properly respectful, but to be honest, all he felt was the urge to hunker down before the long-dead kings staring down at him disapprovingly. 

If the ghosts of the Kings objected to a Hobbit negotiating for the wellbeing of their people, Bilbo supposed they'd have to take it up with the King who currently sat upon the throne. 

Still, he took the time to straighten his waistcoat and hair before striding into the room, trying to seem as if he hadn't just left an entire delegation waiting while he tucked into a hardy breakfast. 

The tension in the room was as thick as porridge, with a visible divide of Dwarves and Men on either side. Bilbo took in the scattering of empty cups around the room with a wary eye, noting that the trays of food seemed more or less untouched in comparison. How perfectly lovely, he had a set of fools with beer in their bellies and little else. Today would be a day of many interesting things, Bilbo was sure. 

Balin was the first to stride up to him and clasp his hand, the fixed smile on his face melting into something more relieved. "Bilbo, my lad, good of you to join us."

And before Bilbo could offer a reply, a low voice added from behind him, "Finally."

Bilbo craned his head to look behind Balin—and met blue eyes beneath a heavy crown. Whatever emotion lay within them, Bilbo could not say but he didn't think it was anything as simple as crossness for a late arrival. Thorin met his gaze evenly, his lips pinched thin, and wasn't this day growing lovelier by the minute.

A dozen words rose to his lips, begging to spill out into the air and Bilbo swallowed every one of them back, held them in his throat for a later time when dozens of eyes weren’t upon them, each person waiting with keen curiosity for Bilbo's reply. Instead, Bilbo offered only a deep bow to Thorin, and to everyone an excruciatingly polite, "I am so terribly sorry to keep you all waiting. If we could all have a seat, perhaps we can continue on from yesterday?"

Murmurs of agreement rose around him and Bilbo joined the others as they took their seats, the Men ridiculously tall around the table. Only Thorin remained standing in the end, arms crossed over his chest as he stood at the end of the table. Bilbo furrowed his brow, gesturing discreetly at his chair next to Bilbo's, on its raised dais. Only to be met with a scowl, Thorin looked away and did not move.

"I'd prefer to stand," he muttered, only loud enough for Bilbo to hear and Bilbo only shrugged and did not question, gathering up the contracts and papers from yesterday so they might begin where they had left off.

* * *

Had anyone told Bilbo not even a year ago that he would weary of talking about food, he would likely have laughed at them, possibly while adding another biscuit slathered with jam to his plate. Now that he had spent weary days discussing quantity of grains and their allotment and their price with Men who seemed to struggle equally with their needs versus their greed, Bilbo could safely say he only wished to be done with talk and instead enjoy the spoils of their negotiations.

It did not help in the least that Balin was the only Dwarf of particular use, as far as Bilbo was concerned. Dwalin only stood close by, his glowering expression adding little to the talks. Kíli sat at Bilbo’s left and any hope that he might gather himself enough to add something to this meeting was dashed by the occasional snore that drifted from him. 

Fíli at least had the grace and sense to remain awake, his eyes alert and his expression masking any boredom, but those same eyes often drifted to his Uncle as if searching for an inkling as to how a future King should act during proceedings such as these. As for Thorin…

If Bilbo hadn’t just spent the past week in this same room, watching as Thorin strove for patience, marveled at his calm dignity in the face of such petty demands, he would hardly believe it was the same Dwarf here today.

Instead of patience, Thorin was a snarling, irritated shadow of the King he’d been in the past week. Questions were answered with terse, single words and he refused to sit, instead pacing around them with the barely restrained tension of a caged beast. The other Dwarves seemed to absorb his mood themselves and the Men mirrored it, which left Bilbo between them desperately trying to fill the cracks in the collapsing dam around them before they were all drowned. All in all, by the time a break was called for supper Bilbo thought they were further away from an agreement than they had been in days and from the mutterings he heard beneath the breath of the Men as they trudged out of the room, he wasn't the only one. 

The door had hardly closed, echoing heavily through the room, when Thorin said, thinly, "Get out, all of you."

Almost as one the others stood, their expression varying from dismay to a blatant scowl but not a one of them protested the order, filing out the door without a word. Kíli cast a glance back at Bilbo, his brow drawn into a concerned frown when he saw Bilbo made no move to follow them. The heavy door swung slowly closed and left the two of them alone beneath the frowning stone faces of past Kings. 

"I believe I said to get out, Master Baggins."

"You did, yes," Bilbo agreed slowly. "However, as I am no longer under contract and I'm here as a neutral party, I don't believe I have to follow your orders, your Highness."

Truth be told, Bilbo could not recall a time he'd addressed Thorin with anything other than his given name; from the very first moment they'd met, he had been nothing more than Thorin and the crown set upon his brow had not changed that for Bilbo. Yet, somehow, sitting in this cold room beneath the stern gazes of the dead, Thorin seemed more a King to him than he had before. For the first time in what seemed an age, Bilbo was at a loss as to how to speak to Thorin and it weighed heavily upon him.

No, that was hardly fair. It was not this room nor was it the Dwarf in it; this was a problem of his causing by his own rashness. Bilbo swallowed thickly and straightened his spine, determined to fix the problem he'd caused. 

"Thorin," he began, wretchedly only to be cut off as Thorin finally sat, all but flinging himself into the large chair and his wince made Bilbo flinch, suddenly realizing precisely why Thorin had chosen to stand that day.

"Being a Dwarf, of course I have no idea how Hobbits handle their affairs," Thorin said low, through gritted teeth, "But amongst Dwarves it is not looked upon kindly to treat even a lover of only one night worse than a whore."

Bilbo's mouth dropped open, "I would never…I did not…I have no idea what you're on about, I truly don't. Perhaps you’re the one who should have slept in this morning!"

"It would have made little difference if I had, considering I would have awoken the same way!" Thorin paused and took a long, slow breath as he rose to his feet. "It matters not."

"Thorin!" Bilbo scrambled to his own feet as Thorin abruptly strode out. Too slow, as it happened, his hip catching against the table corner hard enough that he yelped aloud and still struggled to keep limping after him.

Between his own clumsiness and Thorin's swift departure, Bilbo didn't manage to catch him before the door closed heavily. He fumbled it open, grumbling beneath his breath about stubborn Dwarves and their terrible door construction, only to find while Thorin had managed to vanish, the others were still in the hallway, their eyes falling on Bilbo as he stepped out. 

He offered them all a feeble smile, his previous condemnation of Dwarven workmanship disappearing into a fervent wish that they made their doors too thick for sharp ears to listen through. Dwalin's suspicious glare did not give him much hope on that account. 

It was his brother who offered Bilbo some small hope, Balin stepping up to him with a shake of the head, "Never mind, laddie, he's been in a foul mood since this morning. Weary of these endless negotiations, I shouldn't wonder."

"How are our stores doing, then? Bilbo asked, low, swallowing hard as he remembered his abandoned breakfast. 

"Ah, you needn't be worrying about that," Balin clucked, clapping Bilbo on the shoulder. "We've enough for the time being. When you're feeding as many mouths as this mountain can hold, you don't plan for tomorrow's breakfast or even next week. We're bargaining for dinnertime in the summer."

Fíli stepped in, nodding his agreement, "Caravans will be coming through again but we'd rather have our provisions closer. Easier on us all. But whether or not we come to terms, we'll not be starving. Not this winter."

Something in his voice made Bilbo suspect that they'd none of them been so lucky in previous winters and yet Fíli still offered a pleased smile to Bilbo. He was a touch pale this late in the day and no doubt Kíli would be dragging him off for a sit-down. Of all of them, it was Fíli who was still troubled by his injuries, hard as he tried to hide it. 

Which he did not manage at all as his brother darted up behind him and slung an arm over his shoulders, drawing a wince from his Fíli even as the both of them offered Bilbo matching expressions of pleading, "What my brother is trying to say is, would you please talk to Thorin and settle him? Not starving isn't precisely the same as having a tableful of food and we'd all happier for something better than bread and water for three meals a day."

Frankly, simply the idea of three meals a day was enough for Bilbo to be agreeable to lending a hand, and yet, "What makes you think I'll have any luck at settling him?"

Pleading eyes melted into disbelieving, even from Balin, and Kíli laughed outright as if Bilbo had offered a brilliant jest. "Fine, fine," Bilbo muttered, "I'll try but I'll thank you not to lay all your hopes of a decent meal on my shoulders."

"If there's any of us we can depend on to negotiate for a full pantry, it's you, Bilbo," Fíli said firmly and the others nodded agreement, even Dwalin for all that he looked like there was a stolen lemon wedged into his mouth.

A few rounds of shoulder pounding and encouraging words, and Bilbo was off to his rooms to consider the best way to soothe a King's wounded pride. But no, that was hardly fair, Bilbo considered soberly. He certainly held some blame for Thorin's mood and now that he could ponder it with a clear head, he found he couldn't blame him for his foul temper. 

For whatever reason, Thorin felt as though Bilbo had treated him like a whore, no, as less than a whore and he had no idea why. Certainly Dwarves had some odd customs and apparently in his ignorance he'd done something to make Thorin feel mistreated and pleading a lack of knowledge was merely an explanation, not an excuse. 

Well, the biscuits in his room shouldn't be past their prime, along with the jam and perhaps even the sausages. A pause to finish what he could of his breakfast would give Bilbo a chance to think and perhaps Thorin time to cool his temper. 

It was possible, after all, not that Bilbo would be holding his breath.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More lovely art!! 
> 
> Please give the artists some love!!
> 
> Here is another lovely set by Inchells and Rutobuka2:  
> http://keelywolfe.tumblr.com/post/109197283558/nastyrutobuka-inchells-and-i-decided-that


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Months back when he'd been given a room of his own, Bilbo hadn't thought past the fact that the mattress, while dusty and smelling of must, was also the thickest, most luxurious featherbed he'd ever had the pleasure of falling into an exhausted sleep upon. 

A fluffing and an airing out had dealt with the dust readily enough and a good washing with the strong yellow soap made by the people of Laketown –soon to be Dale- had freshened the bed linens well enough.

It was only after he'd indulged in enough sleep to nearly forget the day that Bilbo had explored the rest of the room curiously. Bilbo might have thought this was a guest room if there hadn't been clear signs of the room being occupied before the fall of Erebor. The closets and drawers will filled with someone else's shirts and underthings and Bilbo had let them be, feeling oddly guilty over going through someone else's possessions even if it was likely that they had passed on. 

Balin had been the one who told Bilbo to whom the room had once belonged. He had considered asking Thorin but it was Balin who always managed to relay such tales the best and one morning Bilbo had simply asked if he knew the room's previous occupant.

The moment Balin's bushy eyebrows drew down and his eyes went moist, Bilbo regretted the question. Yet, Balin did not hesitate to answer. 

"That room once belonged to young Prince Frerin, Thorin's brother," Balin explained quietly, "He survived the attack of Smaug but in the end, Moria claimed him back to the halls of our Maker."

"I…see," Bilbo struggle for words, clenching one hand briefly before he finally said, "Balin, I don't mean any insult, but I can't possibly stay in that room, Thorin—"

"Thorin chose it for you," Balin said serenely. As though the question was settled and Bilbo sighed inwardly because it was true enough. "He wanted you staying in the King's Halls with his kin and mentioned that room in particular."

"Why would he do that?" Bilbo asked, almost absently, hardly even meaning the question.

"Perhaps he trusts you to be respectful," Balin said and a twinkle outshone the sadness in his eyes. "Frerin's room is also one of the few in the King's Hall without stairs; a thing Hobbits prefer to do without, as I recall?"

Seeing as there was no polite way to protest he needn't be housed with the King and Princes of Erebor, Bilbo had stayed where he'd been put and had taken the time to put the room in order. Knowing to whom these things had belonged added a near tenderness to his cleaning.  
The clothing he'd left well alone, they'd hardly fit him in any case. The books had piqued his curiosity and Bilbo had quickly learned that even the books he could read were not to his tastes; all of them were primers, teaching figures and spelling lessons. It was then that Bilbo was struck with how very young Frerin must have been at the fall. From his room, he'd hardly been more than a child, and Bilbo found himself sitting on the stone floor, surrounded by dusting rags and old books as he took in the room with new eyes. 

What he'd thought were cunning statues of soldiers were now obviously toys, set beside cleverly made spinning tops with their pull cords rotting away. Wooden swords tucked into corners and in one drawer, Bilbo found an embroidered bag filled with the finest marbles he'd ever seen. Heavy and well balanced in hand and a glory of color swirled through each. Fine flecks of gold or copper spun through the glass or large aggies that begged to be used. 

Bilbo gave in once, set up an entire game and the clack of glass against glass brought back a sudden rush of childhood memories, along with a lurch of homesickness. In the end, it was the thought that the child to whom these belonged would never again hear that joyous sound that made Bilbo solemnly return them to their bag, tucked back into the drawer until the day there was a child for them. 

Atop a chest of drawers there was also a jewel-encrusted box and when Bilbo had opened it, a touch warily, he had found it filled with neatly sorted beads and aglets, a startling variety of them in various metals, each carved intricately. Bilbo had only recognized one of them, the symbol of the Heir of Durin. Those he left well enough alone.

The front sitting room had been less personal and Bilbo often sat there to read, one sofa pulled close to the fire and on it a thick blanket ready to fold around a sleepy Hobbit, with a small table at the side for a cup of tea and a plate of treats.

There was also a larger table meant for taking meals and that was where Bilbo sat now, poking through the sad remains of his abandoned breakfast as he considered the difficulty with Thorin.

The problem as he saw it was twofold. Firstly, Thorin was somehow offended by something they had done the previous night and try as Bilbo might to shuffle through his pipe weed-fogged memories, he couldn't recall Thorin truly protesting anything. An apology was all the more difficult when one didn't know what they were apologizing for. 

Second, even if he did manage a proper apology, that did not guarantee to improve upon Thorin's mood. So Bilbo was left with stale biscuits and runny jam, considering how to repair what he hadn't known he was breaking. 

The knock at his door was not entirely unexpected and Bilbo swallowed his mouthful of biscuit, calling out a dreary, "Come in."

The Thorin that stepped through his borrowed doorway and closed it gently behind him was far more subdued than the one of this morning. Gone were the markings of his Kingship, his hair done only in the braids he had always worn and his robes of office had been abandoned for a simpler tunic and trousers. This was the Thorin that Bilbo had come to know over the course of their journey and…and this was the Thorin he had bedded the night before, though the only sign of that was a hint of darkness beneath Thorin's eyes.

Eyes that met Bilbo's boldly enough when he came in; they dropped away quickly enough, sweeping over the room. Come to think of it, Thorin had not been in here since Bilbo had moved in to his knowledge; they'd always met in Thorin's chambers. Bilbo swallowed a touch thickly, wondering what Thorin would make of what he'd done. 

Thorin walked the small sitting room on quiet feet, running a hand over the back of the moved sofa, taking in the crackling fire at the hearth and the well-dusted mantel. He said not a word and Bilbo sat and wondered at how the simplest things could quickly become so terribly confusing. Sat and wondered how to form an apology when he wasn't quite sure precisely what he'd done wrong. 

It was the chess set in the corner where Thorin finally paused. It was as magnificent as Bilbo had come to expect of things of Dwarven make, each piece carved from marble. The black pieces were veined with gold, the white milky pure, and Bilbo had polished each piece carefully and the board as well, setting it up neatly again when he was finished. He'd not been able to resist moving a piece, sliding the first pawn forward. 

Thorin looked so long upon the board that Bilbo shifted restlessly, wondering if he'd erred in cleaning it. Wondering where else he'd thoughtlessly erred without knowing and did Dwarves have to be so terribly complicated? If Thorin hadn't wanted him touching Frerin's things, then why would he insist Bilbo take Frerin's rooms, if Thorin didn't want Bilbo touching him, why had he offered so casually the night before, if--

"Frerin was terrible at chess," Thorin said suddenly, breaking the silence. He picked up the pawn and it looked small and fragile in his large hands.

Bilbo swallowed, throat clicking dryly. "Was he?"

"Oh, aye. He was too impatient. He couldn't take the time to see the consequences of his actions." Thorin set the pawn aside and crossing his arms over his chest, gripping his elbows. "Father encouraged us to play. Chess is a good lesson in strategic thinking."

"And your brother didn't care for the lesson?"

"Hardly," Thorin said, dryly. "I believe I still have a scar from the queen he threw at me after I won yet another game." He touched his eyebrow ruefully. "An inch lower and I would have lost an eye, and my father and I would have been a matched set."

Bilbo had hardly a moment to puzzle that out as Thorin fell silent and with sudden clarity, Bilbo knew why Thorin was here. Dressed in unexceptional clothing, his hair tousled as though he'd been standing outside in the wind. He'd taken time to think and found his regret, he'd come to apologize for this afternoon. As Bilbo watched, Thorin took a deep breath and abruptly, Bilbo did not need to hear his apology; in fact, he didn't think he could bear it.

"Would you like a smoke?" Bilbo blurted before Thorin could offer what would surely be a plea for forgiveness that would only make Bilbo feel more horrible than he already did.

A moment of startled silence and then, "Aye," Thorin said gratefully. "I believe I would."

* * *

"Oh, ah, ah…ah!" Bilbo could still taste the sweet smokiness of the pipeweed, his head delightfully light and yet, the feel of Thorin's mouth on him again, sucking with voracious greediness, made him clutch at the plush cushions beneath him desperately. Wildly, he thought that if he didn't hold on to something, he might soar up from the pillows and float away. The silky tendrils of hair falling across his thighs begged for a touch but Bilbo did not trust his hands to be gentle, barely trusted his hips to keep still and not lurch upward, seeking to gain another precious inch in that perfect wet heat.

With an effort, Bilbo managed to lift his head, slitting his eyes open to peer down and he thought the sight was one that no one in Middle-earth would believe. Thorin Oakenshield on his knees before a Hobbit, his eyes closed and his expression one of bliss as he sucked Bilbo's prick. His lips were pink and wet and his beard was damp, and Bilbo was forced to close his eyes again, letting his swimming head fall back on the cushions. 

Abruptly, that lovely wetness vanished and Bilbo jerked, eyes flying open and protests jumbling out in a confused rush. Thorin's hands on his thighs kept him from tumbling from the sofa, his thumbs stroking lingeringly up the insides.

"Bilbo," Thorin said, low, and there was a low rasp in his voice, the faintest hoarseness that Bilbo had the strongest urge to lean in and taste, to find if his mouth was as achingly hot as it looked. He blinked when Thorin repeated his name, shaking his head to clear away the mingled muzziness of pipe weed and pleasure.

"I…what?" Bilbo asked blankly and a curl of heat rose in his belly as one corner of Thorin's mouth rose in a lopsided smirk.

"I wanted to be sure I had your attention," Thorin said, smoothly, and Bilbo could not have been imagining the wicked gleam in his eyes.

"You…I…" Bilbo spluttered and honestly! He was sprawled across a cushy sofa with his cock out and a Dwarf at his feet and…"When anyone has their mouth where you had yours, rest assured, you have their complete attention!"

"I did not wish to presume," Thorin said, with a false sweetness that few would believe him capable of and any tart reply that Bilbo might have offered fluttered away unspoken as Thorin ducked his head and laid his tongue across the head in a wet swipe. Slowly, so slowly, he drew a path downward, his breath a cooling counterpoint to the slick trail his tongue left behind. 

Lower still, down to where his sack hung heavily beneath and Bilbo sobbed out a breath as Thorin drew one into his mouth, lips and tongue gentle as he caressed it, allowing it to slip free before he took in the other. Chill air on wet skin made Bilbo twitch even as Thorin mouthed his way back up the shaft with quick swipes of tongue and the soft graze of teeth and beard, barely hesitating at the crown before swallowing Bilbo down again smoothly into slick, dark heat.

The wail that gurgled free of Bilbo's throat was loud enough to make him feel a flush of distant embarrassment, curls tangled through his knuckles that he had no memory of grabbing and he did not care if it kept Thorin's mouth where it was, greedily taking him into his throat. 

And then again there was nothing but cool air on him and there were no hands to hold him in place. Bilbo sat upright and nearly fell to the floor, and he could only stare dumbly as Thorin stood, nearly staggering as he stripped off his trousers, hardly able to balance as he kicked them away.

His tunic followed and for the first time, he stood utterly bare before Bilbo, who might well have written poetry from the view had he not been struck dumb by it. A well-muscled chest dusted with thick hair that scattered down his broad thighs and legs, down to his sturdy feet, and in between where Bilbo's eyes had skittered past was his cock, heavy and a droplet of readiness gleaming at the tip. 

There were scars bisecting smooth skin here and there, stark reminders of injuries past, and Bilbo was reaching out wonderingly, uncertain where his hand was going to fall. Until Thorin caught him by the wrist and took the choice away.

"Do not move," Thorin slurred and put paid to his words by pushing Bilbo down into the cushions, his weight as solid as the mountain itself as he straddled Bilbo's lap. Bilbo blinked up at him uncomprehendingly; Thorin atop him, lovely and bare and warm, and it was only when he felt a hand on his cock, steadying him, that Bilbo understood.

"Wait!" he blurted, hands scrabbling uselessly on Thorin's thighs even as the tip of his cock glanced against the tight furl of Thorin's body. It was hardly slick enough, only the barest give, and they hung there, frozen, their panting breaths loud in the silence of the room.

"Hush," Thorin gritted out, rocking his weight down and it was enough to just barely push the head inside, Bilbo gasping at the tightness around him.

"It's not…we need _something_ , Thorin," Bilbo panted out, tasting the sweat on his upper lip. "You could hardly sit today, aren't you sore enough?"

A long moment of silence broken only by ragged gasps and for a moment Bilbo thought wildly that Thorin meant to ignore him, that he would push on, driving Bilbo in where he was tight and unyielding. Instead, Thorin leaned back with obvious reluctance, balancing his weight on his spread knees.

"You have something?" Thorin asked, brow furrowed.

"More than that, I have a bed as well…if you can walk?" Bilbo dared a smile and was given one in return. 

"Yes, I can walk," Thorin said, a touch dryly, and when Bilbo gave him an exaggerated gesture to do just that, he did. Only to catch his breath at the sight that greeted him as Thorin had just as many assets to appreciate on the other side. The tangled fall of his hair over his shoulders was lovely, to be sure, but what caught Bilbo's eyes was the sway of his hips and the small, roundish bruises that lay there. Heavens knew Bilbo was not particularly worldly but even he knew the marks left by fingernails against skin, his fingernails, last night when he had Thorin on his knees and oh--

He blinked when he noticed Thorin had stopped, giving Bilbo an appraising look over his shoulder and from his smirk he knew just where Bilbo's gaze had fallen. 

"Come along, then," Bilbo muttered and marched past him to the bedroom, determinedly not watching when Thorin sprawled languidly across the bed on his back, his knees already invitingly parted. 

Instead, he dug through his meager belongings until he found the tin of salve he'd been given those months ago. It was supposed to be for bruises and the like; Bilbo thought it would serve quite well.

Something about Thorin's half-closed eyes taunted him and Bilbo forced himself to not so much as swallow as Thorin trailed a hand down his own belly, drifting over the hard length of his cock with barely enough pressure to tease.

"Enough of that," Bilbo said, a touch shortly, hopping onto the mattress and settling between those wide-spread legs. Obediently, Thorin drew his hands away, reaching up and tucking them beneath the pillow under his head. "I believe it's my turn."

"At your leisure, Master Baggins," Thorin said with great sincerity, not a note of mocking, and Bilbo gave him a narrowed glare as he popped open the small tin and dragged a finger through the ointment, coating it thoroughly. They would see who was a proper tease soon enough.

It hardly took a moment to coax and wheedle him open with a single slippery finger, watching the twitch and flex of the muscles of Thorin's inner thighs. Tight heat inside, not as slick as Bilbo wanted it, and he withdrew despite Thorin's sound of protest, scooping up another dollop of ointment and pushing back inside to the heft of a deep groan.

In no little time he had two slick fingers inside Thorin, watching with glazed heat as Thorin clutched at the pillow behind his head, moaning shamelessly as Bilbo crooked his fingers against his little pleasure spot. Lovely to watch, lovelier a sight than any in Erebor, Bilbo decided thoughtfully, pushing his fingers in harder, watching as Thorin tipped his head back in a shout, his breathing gone ragged and shallow.

"Now," Thorin whispered hoarsely, his hips rising restlessly. Lying with his head on the pillow Bilbo curled around at night, his thighs sprawled apart and his voice caught, choked, when Bilbo tried for three fingers. "Now…you must…I cannot…"

"Hmmm," Bilbo hummed thoughtfully. He twisted his fingers and watched through narrowed eyes as Thorin cursed aloud in his own language, heels scrabbling against the feather tick as he tried to follow them when Bilbo withdrew. He hesitated with his fingers just barely inside, letting Thorin rock against them desperately, "Do you want my fingers or my cock, you don't seem very certain."

"Bilbo…" Thorin's voice cracked around his name, shattering into a cry when Bilbo drove his fingers back in quickly, once, twice, and then paused with them deep inside, wiggling them enough to pull out another wretched groan. There was a fine sheen of sweat rising on Thorin's skin and Bilbo swept the thumb of his free hand up the curve of his hip to feel it. Another twitch of his fingers and Thorin hissed out a breath, couched with a stream of, "Enough, please, enough…"

"Enough?" Bilbo prompted, greedily taking in the sight of Thorin, who was so proud, always, near to broken from _him_. His head shaking restlessly, his knuckles white where he gripped the pillow, and lower, his cock heavy against his belly, leaving a wet trail to glisten against the dark curls. Idly, Bilbo swiped his thumb up the length, circling it through that wetness against the tip and Thorin choked, throat bobbing as he swallowed back whatever cry or curse had tried to break free. 

"Enough," Thorin repeated, a dry whisper of sound, "You must finish me, I cannot…oh!" His thighs flexed as Bilbo curled his fingers tightly, his hand straining into the pillow and there was an ominous groan from fabric. "…bear it. I cannot."

"Then answer my question," Bilbo said, sharper than he'd meant but Thorin's eyes snapped open, blazing down at him and he bared his teeth in a near snarl.

"Give me your cock," Thorin snapped, though his voice was wrecked and harsh. Narrowed slits of blue glared, then were lost behind his lashes as Bilbo pulled his fingers free almost too quickly, catching Thorin beneath the knees and pushing hard, until he was bent nearly double. Large hands covered his own, Thorin helping to hold himself open and Bilbo sighed aloud at the sight.

"You only had to ask," Bilbo said soothingly, shuffling closer on his knees, wriggling until he was pressed tight to the cleft of Thorin's arse. The first push he slid away, both of them groaning their disappointment. Bilbo reached down with a shaky hand and guided himself inside, sinking into the slick welcome. Still so very tight, clutching around him as Thorin arched and flexed, and heels settled into the small of his back, broad thighs ignoring his gentler intent and pulling him fiercely in. 

Oh, Bilbo bit his lip, blinking sweat out of his eyes as he tried to focus on Thorin. Who was clutching at him, hands frantic as they slid over his back, his backside, grasping and pulling even as Thorin rocked and writhed beneath him. A hiccough of laughter slipped free as Bilbo realized he was well and truly caught, he couldn't move a bit against the strength of Thorin's legs holding him in, nor the desperate grasp of his hands. 

"Please," Thorin muttered, the word wrapped in a nonsensical stream of consonants that might have been language. His lips were bitten red, his chest heaving as he gasped and moved against Bilbo, "Please….ah…"

Pleas that Bilbo couldn't possible answer, trapped as he was in the embrace of a passion-crazed Dwarf. The hot clench of Thorin surrounding him was a distraction of its own and Bilbo could only brace against him and let Thorin have his way, wryly musing that Thorin had found a way to have him on his knees, after all. It was difficult to mind, difficult to think, and Thorin's gasping mouth was too far away to steal a kiss. Instead, Bilbo set his teeth against the arched column of his throat, tasting sweat and the vibration of Thorin's moans. A hand shivered into his hair, fingers tender and Bilbo could feel Thorin tense, tightening inside as he shuddered and whimpered and came in hot, slick streaks over both of them. 

Strong legs slid down Bilbo's thighs, ankles catching behind his knees and as they loosened their grip, finally Bilbo could move. He pushed up on his hands on Thorin's chest, palms sliding in the warm wetness of his spending, and he moved, driving in deep even as Thorin mumbled whispery encouragement beneath him, soft, thick sounds, a rhythmic lyric of, "Ah…ah…ah…"

Thorin was lax in his aftermath, thighs widening as they sprawled apart, and he met Bilbo's thrusts with lazy contentment. One hand idled down Bilbo's backside, palm cupping a cheek and Bilbo whimpered inanely, feeling his own pleasure lancing up his spine, close, so close, and then a thick finger slipped between his arse cheeks and pressed lightly, dryly, against his entrance and Bilbo came on a choke of surprise, clenching automatically against an invasion that did not come. 

That light pressure vanished in an instant, shifting to a more soothing stroke down his back and it was an embarrassingly long time before Bilbo could lift his head to glare down at an unrepentant Dwarf.

"Thorin-" he began, a shade tartly.

"I did not and I would not," he countered, evenly. He raised an eyebrow as if daring Bilbo to disagree and honestly, only Thorin could be so arrogant lying bare as a babe, with his own seed still drying on his belly.

"So long as we're clear on that," Bilbo grumbled and he shifted back on his knees, the both of them wincing as he slipped free. Gingerly, he pressed a finger against Thorin's entrance, a little smirk of his own quirking his mouth as Thorin's eyes went wide and startled. A gentle feel revealed no injury and Thorin did not flinch from his touch, which was a marked improvement from the night before. With a sigh, he settled back against Thorin's side, idly trailing a hand down the tacky stickiness of his belly. "You need a wash."

"Mmmm," Thorin mumbled and Bilbo sat up, alarmed to see he was already drowsing. Bilbo gave him a nudge, then a harder push until he frowned and opened his eyes.

"Don't fall asleep, you cannot be sleeping here," Bilbo cautioned. To his surprise, Thorin tensed against him, his mouth drawing tight. Bilbo blinked in dismay as Thorin rolled away from him to sit at the edge of the bed.

"Aye, I'd gathered that," Thorin said tightly. "Goodnight, then."

"A moment!" Bilbo cried and when it seemed Thorin would ignore him and storm away, Bilbo flung himself at his bare back, arms around his neck and his legs around Thorin's waist, ruining his exit unless he cared to carry Bilbo along with him. Hardly dignified but it served its purpose as Thorin stayed sitting, still as a stone. 

Bilbo chewed over a few words, considering, and finally said, "Would you please stay here a moment?" 

He waited, wrapped around Thorin for all the world like a very Hobbity vine, until he finally nodded shortly. Slowly, Bilbo released him; he hardly believed Thorin would fling him away and flee naked from his rooms and yet, with Dwarves it was best to be cautious. When Thorin made no moves, ridiculous or otherwise, Bilbo padded quietly out to the sitting room, not even pausing for a robe. In the tray his pipe was still smoldering and Bilbo took it up, drawing in a lungful before returning to Thorin. 

Thorin had not moved except to draw the blanket over his lap, concealing his own vulnerability while Bilbo's still swayed in the breeze. He ignored it, offering the pipe to Thorin and after a long moment he took it, taking his own breath of smoke. Some of the tension eased in his shoulders and Bilbo settled next to him on the bed, passing the pipe back and forth. 

Bilbo waited until the gentle ease of Old Toby filled him before he said, quietly, "I upset you."

"Aye," Thorin breathed it out in a cloud of sweet smoke. "You did."

"Thorin," Bilbo said, slowly. "I'm not…you're my friend."

"You are," Thorin agreed, surrendering the pipe to Bilbo. "Your friendship is very dear to me."

"I enjoy bedding you."

A smile twitched up one corner of Thorin's mouth, "I enjoy being bedded by you."

Bilbo considered that for a long, sleepy moment, puffing out a ring of smoke, "But I gather you would prefer it if we slept in the same bed afterward."

A smaller ring of smoke came from next to him, sailing neatly through Bilbo's and Bilbo felt a moment of melting tenderness mixed with fond irritation. With one bare foot, he kicked Thorin lightly in the calf, making him cough out a second, bedraggled ring. 

Almost defiantly, Thorin drew in the last breath of smoke, breathing it out with his soft, "I would. Bedfellows, even those who are friends, should sleep in the same bed. To do otherwise is..." he hesitated, and offered a harsh word that Bilbo did not know.

"I'm afraid I'll need a translation of that," Bilbo said, stealing back his pipe and looking mournfully at the dead ashes.

Thorin made a small, frustrated sound. "If there's a word for it in Westron, I do not know it. It's…shameful, to not share sleep with a shield brother. I trust you with my very life, Bilbo. I would trust you with my dreaming."

"Well, I can tell you now that if you're afraid somehow that I don't trust you with mine, it was nothing of the sort that had me off last night," Bilbo sniffed. It felt rather bold to settle his hand on Thorin's bare knee. Thorin set his own hand over Bilbo's, drew his fingers lightly over the back and something that had grown tight in Bilbo's chest eased. "I simply thought it would be best if the rest of the mountain wasn't given a bushel of gossip over where I spent my night."

"Bilbo," Thorin sounded wry, "There is not a soul in this mountain who does not already think you're sharing my bed."

That took him aback, and he sputtered out, "Oh, come, now, surely Balin…but...well, there are the Men, their dignitaries…and Kíli woke me in my own bed this very morning!"

"Aye, he did," Thorin said agreeably. "And before he did, he asked why I hadn't woken you myself."

Well, that certainly put a different twist on why all the Dwarves outside the Company were casting him such scandalized looks all the time. Here he was, involved in a saucy affair with the King of Erebor and no one had bothered to inform him. 

"I suppose you'd best lie down then," Bilbo huffed. "And tomorrow we can spare him the trouble." He set his pipe off to the side and clambered back into the bed, already drowsy with pipe weed and pleasure. Stole the best pillow and was already bundled against it when he felt the bed shift, warm limbs settling next to him. Barely, Bilbo slit open his eyes and peered at the head on the pillow next to him. 

Thorin's eyes were already closed, his hair fanned out on the white bed linens and for a sleepy, fanciful moment Bilbo imagined he was like a flower, dark petals around a pale center, delicate and lovely. He snorted inwardly at his own fancy, settling a hand on the flat plane of Thorin's belly, feeling it rise and fall with each soft breath.

Barely, before he drifted off, he felt Thorin's hand curl around his own, drawing it up and holding it gently against his chest. 

~~*~~


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

There was no telling the hour when Bilbo woke to the feel of the blankets and bed shifting. It felt entirely too early though, the kind of time meant for rolling over, perhaps flipping ones pillow in search of a cool place while burrowing deeper into the blankets. Bilbo might have done just that if he hadn't roused enough to realize that Thorin had slipped from the mattress and was standing next to the bed. 

There was a clunk of a log being set on the coals at the hearth and the greedy crackle of flames as it caught. The light behind Bilbo's eyes turned warm and golden, and he cracked one open to see Thorin was in his trousers, his rumpled tunic tossed carelessly over the armchair by the fireplace.

"After your fussing last night, you're leaving me in the wee hours?" Bilbo mumbled, halfheartedly. 

"I slept," Warmth touched Bilbo's forehead, leaving behind a touch of dampness, and he recognized it as a fond sort of kiss. "And if I wish to change my clothing, I need to return to my rooms. I'm certain I'd make quite the sight in your trousers but my honor demands I wear my own."

"You couldn't get a foot through a single leg of my trousers." Bilbo yawned and stretched. Before he could sit up, Thorin had already tucked the blankets back around him, thick fingers tousling gently through his hair.

"You still have some time, go back to sleep."

A command Bilbo was more than happy to obey. He snuggled into the dimming warmth of the bed and chased back after his dream. When he woke again it was a much more decent hour and Bilbo took the time to freshen up before venturing down to what he hoped was a much more successful meeting than the last morning.

Freshly washed and feet combed, Bilbo was nonetheless stifling a yawn behind one hand when he went out into the sitting room. His newfound pursuits with Thorin were pleasurable enough but they certainly interfered with his rest. 

Not that Bilbo was complaining. 

To his pleased bemusement, the dishes from the day before had been cleared away. In their place was a covered plate and to the delight of Bilbo's stomach, closer inspection revealed it to be honey cakes, similar to those Bilbo had enjoyed at Beorn's. For an early breakfast, it was as good a treat or better than the biscuits and jam at yesterday's.

Happily munching, Bilbo took a moment to snag a fresh handkerchief to tuck into his pocket when something caught his eye and Bilbo paused, half a cake in his mouth. He chewed slowly and regarded the chess set speculatively, in particular the black player's side, where a knight had been moved. 

It stood proudly on the board at the opposite side of Bilbo's pawn and after a long moment of consideration, Bilbo smiled to himself and made his move. Then he dusted away any crumbs from his shirt and wiped his mouth with his handkerchief before stepping out the door. It wouldn't do to keep a delegation of Men and Dwarves waiting twice.

* * *

It became something of a habit after that. There were so many long days of Kingly negotiations, meeting with councils and delegations, of mine inspections, construction…the list went on far longer than Bilbo was willing to consider it. After days such as those, it was fitting, nay, almost required that a King should be able to relax with a good friend and a pipe, and more often than not Bilbo invited Thorin to join him in his rooms or else followed Thorin to his own. Books were still read, of course, Bilbo had not yet lost interest in the fascinating depths of Erebor's library. For the past week, though, their evenings tended to end somewhat differently.

When he'd first joined their Company, Gandalf had warned him there were certain things to which he'd have to grow accustomed; never in any of his boldest of imaginings would he have considered one of those to be Thorin riding him, the shining length of his hair spilling over his shoulders and clinging in sweaty ringlets to his cheeks.

Bilbo could only grip at his hips with both hands, short nails digging in and heels scrabbling at the blankets as he tried for leverage, all for naught. Thorin was entirely too heavy for him to move and while Bilbo had never enjoyed being held down, not even in his more creative experiences, for the first time he was able to appreciate the luxury of not being able to do a thing but lie there and let Thorin take what he wanted. 

Above him, astride him, Thorin rode fiercely; his mouth open, his tongue caught between his teeth, and none of it stifled his groans. Thorin had one hand braced on Bilbo's chest for balance, fingers spread wide and even if Thorin hadn't been on top of him it would have been enough to pin him down.

Being able to watch Thorin like this was a kind of greedy indulgence that could be an understandable addiction

Soon enough Bilbo was biting his tongue against his own moans because he did not want to miss hearing a single groan torn free from Thorin, wanted the echo of the slap of skin against skin in his ears until he dreamed of it at night.

By the end, he was biting a knuckle hard enough to taste blood, trying to keep quiet, eyes narrowed as he watched Thorin grinding down on him, the ragged shift of his hips and his stuttered breathing a tell of how close he was. Gleaming sweat, his hand still braced on Bilbo's chest and the other tight on his cock, jerking hard and when he finally came the sound he made was enough to crack Bilbo's control.

Bilbo came to the feel of hot slickness spilling over his stomach, streaking up nearly to his chin and he was still shaking with it, breath hissing through his teeth when Thorin collapsed on him and the rest of his breath woofed out of him.

A wheeze of protest was enough for half a muttered apology and half a Dwarf rolling off of him. That left Bilbo still caught beneath the weight of an arm, a leg, and vast amounts of clinging, damp hair. It took every shred of energy he had left to lift a hand to his face and brush enough of it out of his mouth to be able to talk.

"Right...well...that was...yes...." Bilbo managed, a stream of nonsense falling loose and what on earth was he saying? He wasn't sure why he'd bothered to move, he couldn't begin to even think of a proper thing to say and the only sound Thorin managed was a sort of agreeable, sleepy hum.

Being that most of him was still trapped beneath rather a lot of Dwarf, Bilbo thought he could be forgiven for his less than perfect manners in the aftermath. Generally, he considered a warm washcloth and perhaps a bit of light kissing to be traditional.

His relief when Thorin rolled away and came back with a wet cloth was barely tinged with guilt and Bilbo sighed contentedly as he was gently cleaned, light touches against his still-sensitive prick and a bit of a rougher scrub over his sticky belly. 

Bilbo lay drowsing, and only the raspy sensation of a beard against his freshly washed belly woke him up a bit. His fingers were still trembling when he settled his hand on the back of Thorin's head, threading them loosely through damp curls as Thorin nuzzled kisses into his skin. 

It was only when those tender kisses moved lower that Bilbo was forced to dredge up the last of his willpower, raising his head and looking down at Thorin in disbelief. "You cannot possibly think I can manage anything more."

A soft hum of breath was the only reply and Bilbo struggled with his recalcitrant tongue. It was the only part of him he could hope to move at the moment and that was a distant hope, indeed; his legs and arms seemed content to flop about like a rag doll and a wriggle of his toes was not a proper dissuasion.

"Honestly, Thorin, I am a wreck," Bilbo rasped. "I would think I lost my feet somewhere in the tussle but I can still see them from here."

Another soft hum vibrated against his skin and Bilbo shivered, skin prickling. Once opened, his eyes were reluctant to close again, what with the view before him. Thorin was kneeling astride his legs and while the sight of his bare bum in the candlelight was appealing enough, better was the thick, dark fall of his hair across Bilbo's pale belly and thighs, the silvered strands as sweetly ticklish as his kisses. Bilbo watched through narrowed eyes as Thorin nosed softly at the damp curls at the base of his softened prick. Certainly it was game, trying diligently to arise yet again to the occasion. It hardly managed a weak bob, even when Thorin applied his tongue to his efforts. 

He didn't seem to mind the lack of response from Bilbo's cock, particularly when the rest of Bilbo reacted with alacrity, whimpering out a soft groan. His knees struggled to rise on either side of Thorin's head and his hands fumbling through the heavy length of his hair, pushing it clumsily back so that he might watch. Thorin's normally thin lips were swollen to plush redness from his efforts, his lashes quivering against his cheeks as he gently sucked the softened shaft. Lingering sensitively made Bilbo hiss, biting his own lip, but the time for protests were past. He could only watch, rapt, as Thorin mouthed at him with the meticulousness he'd come to expect. 

Lashes rose unexpectedly, dark blue eyes meeting Bilbo's and perhaps smugness might be expected from a Dwarf who had laid out another so thoroughly. Perhaps Bilbo would have thought that, once. Instead, Thorin's gaze held only heat, as deep and searing as the blue flames of the forges, far too intense for Bilbo to withstand for very long and when Thorin curled a slick tongue around the head of his cock, lips parting so that Bilbo could see the pink flicker of it, he was forced to shut his eyes against it. 

Try as his body might, Bilbo was too exhausted to truly harden. He sobbed out a breath as Thorin's mouth closed around him completely, inhaling him. The perfect, wet heat of his mouth was addictive, the silken length of his hair in Bilbo's too-hard grip much the same. No amount of gold would be enough to persuade Bilbo that this was not the greatest of riches and in the back of his mind was a darker thought, of what he would sacrifice to keep this. What _wouldn't_ he.

That murky thought vanished, lost in pleasured depths as the redness behind Bilbo's eyes went bright, the heat-glimmer of the fire mingle with the pained sweetness of Thorin's mouth on him. Coming against the unyielding pressure of Thorin's tongue, only a weak spurt and feeling it being swallowed away drew another helpless shiver from Bilbo. Pleasure was riding the knife-edge of pain when Thorin finally let him slip free, pressing a kiss against the head that despite its tenderness made Bilbo flinch. In the wake of it he felt raw and frustratingly weak, and he moaned in the back of his throat when Thorin kissed him again, tongue flicking out for a last taste.

"Shhh," Thorin murmured, more breath than sound and relief made Bilbo sag against the blankets. The bed shifted as Thorin moved, thighs brushing Bilbo's sides as he crawled up and it was the smacking sound of skin against skin that finally encouraged him to open his eyes again. Mere slits were all Bilbo could manage but it was enough for him to see Thorin kneeling above him, his large hand working his cock fiercely as he stared intently down at Bilbo. Much harder and rougher than Bilbo could have possibly managed, and Bilbo could only watch the swollen tip disappearing and reappearing into his fist. 

His other hand was braced against the bed, holding up his weight as Thorin leaned over him and his eyes burned as fiercely now as they had before, hot fire alight in blue eyes. Bilbo could only lay shaking hands on Thorin's thighs, digging in his nails and feeling the strain of muscles, the hard chuff of his breathing as his hand worked faster, muscles bulging ripely in his arm. Thorin leaned in closer still, eyes narrowing and just as the wet head of his cock grazed Bilbo's naked belly, he came with a loud, choked groan, spilling in hot, wet streaks. It felt scalding against Bilbo's sweat-chilled skin and Bilbo bit back a groan of his own as his cock struggled to throb in sympathetic synchronicity. 

Almost, Thorin sagged down on top of him, only just catching his weight and he braced his other hand against Bilbo's belly, smearing the pearly streaks that lay wet against his skin. It was only when he drew his hand upward as if to rub it in that Bilbo finally managed a meager protest. 

He caught Thorin's wrist with no more strength than a fly and yet, he stilled, allowing Bilbo to halt him. "Enough of that," Bilbo mumbled, though his voice cracked and creaked like poorly built stairs. "You've mussed me enough for one night."

"Mussed?" It was gratifying to hear that Thorin's voice was as torn as his own. "Aye, you've been mussed." Thorin shifted off of him with a groan, dragging Bilbo in with one arm to curl against his chest. The other hand curled against his hip possessively, "Though I would never call it enough."

Bilbo laughed weakly. "I believe I had best call it enough or else you're going to kill me."

"Eat more, it will improve your stamina," Thorin mumbled. His head was heavy on Bilbo's chest, his hair tangled across it.

"Stamina," Bilbo muttered. "If stamina were related to an enjoyment of food, I would rebuild the mountain myself. How did your past lovers survive?" Silence greeted that and Bilbo bit his tongue at the gaffe. The crackle of the hearth was not enough to break it and finally Bilbo ventured, "Terribly sorry, that was quite rude."

Again, silence, and it made a horrible suspicion bloom in Bilbo's thoughts like a great and terrible weed. He had to swallow twice against his dry throat to give it voice. 

"Erm, you have had past lovers?" Bilbo was rather proud he managed to keep the horrified squeak from the question but the continued silence did nothing for his thundering pulse; for goodness sake, their first time together had been on the _floor_.

"I can hear your heartbeat and before you expire, yes, I have had past lovers," Thorin said, exasperated, "By Mahal's blood, I am a century your senior, Bilbo. Forgive me if I did not wait for you to steal my virginity."

"Well, who can tell with Dwarves," Bilbo huffed in annoyance, "And I'd not forgive you but heap you with praises. A virgin in the sheets tend to be more effort than they are worth." And a great deal clingier, Bilbo had found. A chap with even a small string of lovers was far easier to negotiate.

Thorin didn't seem to have anything to add to that, instead, he shifted, rising up on his knees to straddle Bilbo and this time, Bilbo could not help but bleat a protest, "Honestly, Thorin, do not even try…"

"Hush, calm yourself, I'm done for the night else I won't be sitting in the morning," Thorin grimaced slightly, and shifted to sprawl over Bilbo, only propping his weight on his elbows when Bilbo wheezed.

"Is there a reason you're crushing me?"

Thorin seemed to consider that. "No."

Bilbo shook his head but did not ask him to move. Sitting astride him like one might a pony, Thorin wriggled just a bit and for all that Bilbo did not have a droplet of energy left to him, some little part of him was still appreciative. Thorin noticed and his mouth curved in a grin, and honestly, his playfulness afterward was disarming.

Leaning forward as he was, his hair fell in a lovely tangle that begged for a hand and Bilbo was reaching for it agreeably, already imagining the feel of silky tendrils between his fingers, when something caught his eye. Alongside the normal braids that Thorin wore every day was a second one, only on his left side. Bilbo reached for it, curiously, squinting at the aglet at the end. Silver, like the rest of Thorin's hair beads and with a symbol Bilbo did not know. "What's this, then?"

"Amongst my people it's called a braid," Thorin pronounced it very precisely as though Bilbo might have some difficulty with it. "It's made by taking several strands of hair and weaving them together."

"You know, I don't believe I like you when you're filled with happiness and pleasure," Bilbo told him loftily. "I'll be certain to ask Balin to find you something tedious to do so that you can be lovely and cross."

"I'm sure Balin would delight in assisting you." Thorin drew the braid out of Bilbo's hand and then used the end to tickle at Bilbo's nose, until he batted it away, scrubbing at his nose with the back of his hand. His curiosity forgotten for the moment, instead Bilbo wove a hand into the length of Thorin's hair. It had the rather pleasurable effect of Thorin settling down against him, and Bilbo hid a private smile at the thought of the King of Erebor so eager to be petted.

The strands felt cool and damp against his palm and Bilbo stroked his hand down it, letting his fingers comb through the silky tendrils; odd that this felt somehow deeply intimate, considering what they'd just been doing. Curls caught on his fingers, sliding across his knuckles and tickling his palm, and Thorin didn't make a sound, his breathing slow and even.

Sleeping already, Bilbo suspected with no little bemusement. He only kept petting that soft hair, ignoring the thin thread of guilt woven into it to be doing it when Thorin could hardly offer protest.

He also ignored the hopeful gurgle in his belly reminding him of the platter of sandwiches and scones sitting lonely out by the fire alongside the cooling tea. As light on their feet as Hobbits were rumored to be, even he wasn't certain how to escape from this trap.

A low chuckle, more breath than sound, shook Thorin's chest and with a groan, he rolled over fully, sleepy blue eyes peering out from beneath sooty lashes. "Don't let me keep you from second supper, I'd hardly wish to starve you."

"Second supper, what odd notions you Dwarves have," Bilbo scoffed, a touch weakly because Thorin was lovely and bare and warm, but the food was an entirely different sort of temptation. "There's no such thing. This is nothing more than a late night snack."

"Mmmmm," Thorin's eyes had already drifted closed again and Bilbo swallowed thickly, taking a moment to tug the blankets up somewhere slightly less exposing before he made his way to the sitting room and sandwiches. 

His dressing gown was long enough to drag on the floor; tacking it up had seemed more effort than it was worth and it left enough to tangle his feet into when he sat, the better to keep them warm. Sitting in front of the fire with tea and a snack, the gentle thrum of pleasure still trilling through his veins, Bilbo felt more content than he'd been since he'd first set foot on the road. 

It had been a lovely adventure, Bilbo decided, chewing a scone with great satisfaction. He was rather going to miss it when he left in the spring.

After the food had been reduced to crumbs, Bilbo gave an idle though to having a pipe, frowning as he recalled the little barrel of pipe weed was already nearing half-empty. They had been indulging rather a lot lately, and Bilbo found that he didn't feel like smoking here alone with Thorin asleep in his room. 

Instead, he shrugged off the urge and padded back to the room where warm blankets and a warmer body were awaiting him. Settled against Thorin with a happy sigh and in moment the echo of two sets of breathing mingled with the snapping of the hearth.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art links!
> 
> Please, check out this amazing (NSFW) piece by Mariejacquelyn. Gorgeous:  
> http://keelywolfe.tumblr.com/post/109668554221/mariejacquelyn-ive-been-dying-to-do-a-little


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

Though Bilbo had only been sharing bedding with Thorin for less than a handful of days, he thought he could be considered quite the connoisseur of his sleeping habits. For one, once Thorin fell asleep, he slept deeply and silently, with none of the snoring or scuffling he'd grown accustomed to from the other Dwarves during their travels. 

Secondly, when Thorin was deep into his dreams, through some complicated and surely magical process he seemed to grow extra limbs that were not visible to Hobbit eyes. Bilbo was certain of this because whenever he woke in the night, he found himself held tightly to Thorin with little hope of escape. Thus far Bilbo had hardly felt it worthy of complaint; there were far worse things than being comfortingly trapped against a lovely, warm Dwarf with strong arms, visible and otherwise. Waking drowsily in the wee hours to find Thorin's head heavy and warm over his heart and a large hand cupped around his bare hip was an unexpected pleasure. 

So it was something of a surprise to drift awake and find himself without the comfort of his living blanket. Sleepily, Bilbo blinked into the dimness. The hearth had been reduced to coals that lent only a reddish glow to the room. Sometime in the night Thorin had rolled nearly to the edge of the bed and though he was little more than a lumpy shape beneath the blankets, even in this light Bilbo could see the way his arms were drawn tight to his chest, the way he shivered beneath the weight of the bedclothes. 

Still hovering on the edge of not-quite-awake, Bilbo slipped from between the lovely warmth of the bed linens, hissing as the cold of the floor jolted him to wakefulness. He added a few logs to the coals of the hearth, blowing at them until flames licked and caught. 

Satisfied that it would be enough to warm them 'til morning, Bilbo took a moment to stretch luxuriously and warm his toes before he turned back to the bed, thinking of little more than a few more hours sleep…and then froze. With the growing light of the fire Bilbo could see it was not the chill of the room disturbing Thorin's sleep. Silvery tracks of wetness were trailing down his cheeks into his hair, silent tears with only the slightest hitch of breathing to mark them.

"Ah, no. No, no," Bilbo murmured and the icy floor was forgotten as he hurried back to the bed. And there he hesitated, hands fluttering with helpless concern. As little as he had shared his bed over the years, Bilbo had had some companions and there were those who tended to wake with shouts and flailing limbs as much as not, and those were Hobbits. Thorin had more cause than most for unpleasant night awakenings and he might well wake with fists. Bilbo did not think either of them would be terribly happy about that. 

In the end, he settled on grasping Thorin's shoulders and giving him a gentle shake before scrambling back out of arm's reach. His caution turned out to be for naught; Thorin only startled awake, leaning up on his elbows in sleepy confusion. 

"What's the matter?" Thorin was already moving, pushing blankets aside to join Bilbo on the cold floor, surely assuming that some catastrophe had befallen the kingdom. Bilbo hurriedly stopped him, climbing back into the warm blankets himself.

"Nothing is wrong," Bilbo assured him. "Only..." He reached out and cupped Thorin's face in his hand, sweeping his thumb through the lingering wetness beneath his eye. Thorin mimicked him, taking in the dampness on his fingers with weary realization.

"I am sorry I woke you." Thorin swiped at both eyes with impatient fingers.

"I do believe I said I was happy to share your dreams with you," Bilbo said, hushed. The late hour and Thorin's melancholy seemed to call for soft voices. He slid beneath the sheets and urged Thorin to lay back once again, the both of them warmed beneath the mountain of blankets that Dwarves found necessary on their beds. "What were you dreaming?"

Thorin said nothing, only let his broad fingers trail down the bareness of Bilbo's back and Bilbo hastily added, "If you'd rather not, of course I—"

"I was not very old when the dragon came," Thorin said slowly. He did not look at Bilbo; his eyes were distant, unseeing. "At the time, I was not even of age. Some nights, I dream of fire, flames, and my people…" His voice went faint. "I dream of them crying out, pleading for help and none come."

Thorin shook his head, shaking away the memory like cobwebs. "It was some time ago and Erebor has been taken back. You would think that such dreams would be set aside."

There should have been something to say to that. Something about how some hurts ran too deeply to ever be set aside and that there was nothing shameful about it. Dwarves clung to their grudges so deeply that it seemed to Bilbo that Thorin should _know_ this, that time did not erase injuries, even ones to the soul, and the scars Smaug had left surely ran as deep as the veins of gold in Erebor's walls. 

Words, ever Bilbo's strongest weapon, were lost to him this night and he hid their lack with a kiss, covering Thorin's mouth with his own gently. A mere press of lips and Bilbo tried to pour his feeling through it. It was Thorin who deepened the kiss, raised a hand and cupped Bilbo's cheek, lips parting and his tongue sliding against Bilbo's. Thorin who refused all pity or sympathy, even one as a simple as a kiss, and Bilbo let him, met the warmth of his kiss with a touch of his own heat. 

He drew back and took in Thorin's hooded eyes, the pink dampness of his lips and caught his breath. The edge of smile curved Thorin's mouth and he asked slyly, "I thought you were mussed enough for the night?"

"Who says I'm the one to be mussed?" Bilbo countered. 

That earned him a chuckle and Thorin shifted to put his hands behind his head, one brow raised in mocking question. "Is that a challenge?"

"Keep your hands where they are and it may well be," Bilbo murmured, distracted by the hard bulge of Thorin's bicep. He ran a hand over it, soft skin over strong muscle that filled his hand to overflowing. Stroking downward, fingers grazing through the hair beneath his arm and Bilbo raised a brow of his own when Thorin's expression tensed, lips pressed together. He resisted the childish urge to linger and see if he could draw out a laugh, instead smoothing his hand over Thorin's chest. Brushed against his nipple with a thumb and watched as it hardened. There was a simple ring threaded through it and it fascinated Bilbo. The way Dwarves decorated their hair, their bodies, their very skin was strange and exotic to a Hobbit from the Shire.

Thorin made a quiet sound of encouragement and shifted restlessly. His hands remained where they were, tucked behind his head. Bilbo met his eyes and slowly lowered his head, never looking away as he flicked his tongue against the tight little nub and its ring. Felt the curious contrast between skin and body-warmed metal, breathing hotly against the wet skin. 

Sleek curls of hair covered Thorin's chest, narrowing at his belly and Bilbo threaded his fingers through them, stroking downward, following the path with lips and tongue. He shifted to draw the blankets aside, baring Thorin for his eager eyes. Cradled between his broad thighs was his cock, rising heavy and eager, and Bilbo couldn't help a sigh. At his age, he'd been with a respectable amount of fellows and he liked to think he knew a lovely prick when he saw one. 

A ruddy red, flushed almost to purple at the tip, Thorin's cock was not intimidating in length, more proportional than astounding. The girth of it, though, stout enough that Bilbo's fingers did not meet when he took it in hand, that was more than was to be expected with any Hobbit Bilbo had bedded. Perhaps a bit intimidating and yet, Bilbo could not even be ashamed at the way his mouth watered to have a taste of it. 

Before Bilbo could so much as graze his lips against the slickness at the head, a strong hand caught his shoulder, stilling him. Bilbo's first instinct was to chide Thorin for breaking their agreement but the words still unspoken on his tongue at Thorin's face, for that was not the expression of a Dwarf eager to be sucked. 

"What's the matter?" Bilbo asked, carefully. He kept his hand where it was, curled lightly around Thorin's hard length though he did not move the slightest. 

Thorin looked rather as if he were chewing on his own tongue, hardly a compliment to Bilbo's skills. "Bilbo, you do not need…if you would prefer…"

"If I would prefer what?" Bilbo asked, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice.

"You prefer to not be on your knees," Thorin said, as if he were reminding Bilbo. 

"Are you suggesting I'd not enjoy having my mouth on you?" Bilbo smirked and wet his lips, anticipating the weight and heft of Thorin's prick on his tongue. "I assure you, nothing could be further from the truth."

From the way Thorin's breath caught the idea appealed to him as well. But the doubt shadowing his eyes was not to be ignored. "Thorin, trust me to make my own decisions about what I will and will not enjoy."

"I do," Thorin groaned. His hips rose seemingly of their own accord, driving him into the loose clench of Bilbo's fist. A tremor ran through Thorin, the muscles of his inner thighs taut. "I do, but—"

"That means you do not," Bilbo tightened his grip and gave Thorin a vigorous stroking before stilling again, his grasp hardly more than a tease.

"I do!" Thorin gasped out, his trembling closer to shaking, and he spread his legs wider, surely a deliberate temptation that Bilbo just a surely ignored. He wrapped his other hand around the first, gripping hard and dragged both hands up the shaft in a long, slow stroke. A broken, rough-edged moan was the only sound and Bilbo repeated it, his eyes on Thorin. Who was lovely and frantic, clawing at the pillow as he writhed against Bilbo's deliberate touches.

"Thorin," Bilbo said clearly, waited until wild blue eyes fell on him. Then he leaned down and swiped his tongue over his own fingers, squirming it between his knuckles until he could taste hot skin. Sucked and moaned against his own hands, following the sudden surge of Thorin's hips, savoring the mingled flavor of his own skin against Thorin's. His tongue skidded over the head of Thorin's prick and his own thumb, and he could feel the surge, could hear Thorin's sudden shout as he strained against Bilbo's grip. 

Hot, slick wetness fell over his hands and Bilbo licked it away, following the path up Thorin's belly, relishing the perfect bitter salt of it on his tongue. When he finished, finally daring to meet Thorin's gaze again, he found Thorin staring at him with wide-eyed bewilderment.

"Oh, honestly," Bilbo huffed out, clambering up to give Thorin a rough kiss, pressing his tongue between his lips to share the taste of his seed. A moment of startled stillness and then Thorin met the kiss, cautiously, his hands resting gingerly at Bilbo's shoulders as Bilbo murmured against his mouth, "You may be a century my senior but it seems you can still be taken off guard."

"Aye," Thorin breathed, biting softly at Bilbo's lower lip. His hand shifted, sliding down Bilbo's chest to his belly, "Here, let me—"

Bilbo caught his wrist before it could wander further down, "No, that won't be necessary," he said, a touch ruefully. "Lovely as that was, I did warn you I was spent for the night."

A frown marred the pleasantly dazed expression lingering on Thorin's face. "You did not need to…you are not obligated to me, Bilbo."

"You dratted old Dwarf," Bilbo sighed out. "Do you ever listen to me or does every word I say simply flutter around in your ears before it fades away? Listen to me now, won't you? Of course I am not obligated to you, what a ridiculous notion! I enjoyed that, so if you'd care to stop fretting, we can find out together if you're more reasonable with a little more sleep."

For a moment he thought Thorin was going to argue, as if he somehow decided that the perfect time for a long chat was while they were both still bare as babes and wrecked with exhaustion. Bilbo swore he could hear wheels creaking in Thorin's head and nearly wilted in relief when Thorin finally reached for the blankets, drawing them up to cover them both.

"Budge over," Bilbo said, bullying Thorin until he stretched out on his back and Bilbo could curl up against him for once, listening to the heavy thud of the heartbeat beneath his cheek. He settled a hand on Thorin's belly to feel the slow rise and fall of his breathing and only sighed when Thorin linked their fingers together, squeezing gently. 

Sleep was already spilling over the edge of his consciousness but Bilbo managed a last murmur, "Sweet dreams."

Almost, he thought he heard a reply, the rumble of voice beneath his ear. He was entirely too tired to puzzle the words out and instead drifted into the gentle embrace of his own dreams, not so very different than the arms holding him.

* * *

The next morning found Bilbo as the one awoken, with lazy kisses that did not urge him quickly from the bed. To his dismay, Thorin was the one who chose not to linger, rising from the lovely, warm sheets and guaranteeing Bilbo's cooperation by taking those same said sheets with him.

A bed without blankets was less use than a teapot with no spout and so Bilbo grudgingly rose to dress for the day. It was hardly worth the effort to send a baleful glare at Thorin when he would simply ignore it and so Bilbo didn't bother and chose instead to be thankful that at least it hadn't been Kíli in to wake him again. 

Thinking of Kíli reminded Bilbo that none of the others had spared a comment in the past few days about Thorin's cheerier mood, for which Bilbo was very thankful. Even knowing that the lot of them had assumed he'd been sharing Thorin's bed before he was did not make him inclined to speak of it now, not to Kíli or Fíli and certainly not to Dwalin, who had taken to glaring at Bilbo from time to time, his eyes surly beneath his bushy brows. But then, Dwalin had never been a fellow of any great cheer, it was possible that was simply his normal state. Balin seemed agreeable enough to keep to the occasional sly wink, and that was well and enough for Bilbo.

This morning Thorin had taken a care with his clothing and so managed to avoid having to scurry off to his own room like a shamefaced lad caught in his sweetheart's bedroom by an outraged parent. When Bilbo finally shuffled from the washroom, his stomach hopeful of breakfast, Thorin was seated at the table, combing out his hair.

It was…odd, to say the least, to share his morning toilette with another. At his age, a bachelor was expected to have taken a companion or two, so long as one was discreet and while he didn't suppose sharing a bed with the King of Erebor would be considered discreet in the least, neither had any of his past lovers lingered 'till morning light. It simply wasn't _done_ , not in Hobbiton, but as Bilbo was often reminded, Erebor was not Hobbiton and if the rest of the mountain did not find it untoward, Bilbo supposed he could lean towards Dwarven sensibilities for a time. Once one grew accustomed to a mere three meals a day, anything else was merely an inconvenience. 

He paused, watching Thorin comb out his hair until it was shining and sleek. The comb was plainer than he might have expected with an aged yellow to it, perhaps of bone or some stone, and only carved with a few symbols. Gems or anything more ornate might pull, he supposed. As he watched, Thorin set the comb aside and separated out strands from above his ear, weaving them into a neat braid with practiced ease. It was only when his hands paused that Bilbo blinked and found Thorin watching him with a raised eyebrow.

Bilbo merely gave him a sheepish smile and a shrug. If Thorin was unaware at this point in his life that the shining curls of his hair were a lovely sight, he was hardly going to believe Bilbo's opinion on the matter. Better was the feel of them trailing slippery-soft through one's fingers but perhaps that might be a rude gesture while Thorin was busy tidying the unruly mass of it. Instead, Bilbo picked up one of the aglets from the tabletop, peering at the symbols on it. 

"What does this say?" Bilbo asked curiously, rolling it between his fingers to feel the raised engravings. Only to have it plucked away by nimble Dwarven fingers as Thorin used it to bind the braid in his hand.

"This one names me as heir to the line of Durin," Thorin said, fingering the bead. "It is my symbol, given to me at my birth."

"So any Dwarf would know who you are simply from that?" Bilbo picked up another, fascinated. Again, it was plucked free and Thorin put it to use.

"Aye. It's also considered terribly rude to touch them."

Bilbo froze, fingers outstretched over the last bead and already an apology was close to tumbling free until Thorin hooked a finger into the collar of Bilbo's shirt and drew him down until they were eye to eye, nearly cross-eyed. A smile quirked his lips and Bilbo huffed in annoyance, "Oh, you are having me on."

"I am not, so have a care with your fingers around any other Dwarf or you may lose them," Thorin told him and stole a lingering kiss. He let Bilbo loose all too soon, scooping up the last aglet and dropping it into Bilbo's hand. "I believe you can consider yourself one allowed to touch mine."

"That's good to hear considering what else you've allowed me to touch," Bilbo muttered, rubbing a finger over the symbols on the last aglet. It was different than the other two, shaped the same and yet, it did not match. "And what's this one?"

"Here," Thorin plucked the bead away and drew Bilbo down to sit on his knee, before holding out a glossy segment of hair. "This one, braid it for me?"

Only slightly more question than demand. Bilbo made no move to take the strands. "What makes you think I even know how to braid?"

"I've seen your doilies."

Fair enough, Bilbo supposed. He carefully separated it into segments, braiding far slower than Thorin had. "As it happens, I do know how to braid. Why, I've braided at least three or four rugs for my home."

"Indeed?" Without the need to braid his own hair, Thorin's hands seemed eager to find another occupation, namely finding a way beneath Bilbo's shirt. "You would compare my hair to a rug?"

"You're the one with an interest in my crochet."

His finished braid was slightly crooked but acceptable, Bilbo decided. He took the aglet when Thorin handed it to him, fastening the end carefully. "There we are, is there anything else you'll be needing? Shall I shine your boots? Darn your socks? I could always---mmmph!"

His tart rejoinder was caught between their mouths as Thorin kissed him with aching tenderness that made Bilbo think longing thoughts towards the bedroom. Instead, Thorin only drew back enough to rest his forehead against Bilbo's, murmuring a quiet, "Thank you."

His sincerity drew something of the same from Bilbo and he only replied, "You are welcome. Now then," he slid from Thorin's knee, pacing away and rubbing the back of his neck, oddly nervous for reasons he could not quite name. "What is on the agenda for today?"

"Balin is taking up much of my day with the tediousness that I believe you were going to ask of him, so you might save yourself begging the favor," Thorin said and from his voice, he might well be as cross as Bilbo had wished for by the end of the day. "And you?"

"I had made plans to visit Bofur, he wanted to show me something, I believe," Bilbo said. The chess set caught his eye and Bilbo hesitated, considering the board. The game they'd begun days ago was well underway and whatever strange alliance Bilbo had formed with Frerin was turning to a profound respect for he could see how a fellow could become frustrated with Thorin's technique. It was fierce to the point of belligerence, hardly a surprise there. But Bilbo was no young lad scowling at his older brother's smugness and he also played to win. 

His move left Thorin less a knight and Bilbo set it to his side with quiet satisfaction. "I am going to beat you, I do hope you know that."

"Indeed?" There was an odd note to Thorin's voice and Bilbo turned questioningly, to find Thorin only smiling. "Perhaps you will. But I may win, yet."

"We'll see soon enough," Bilbo said agreeably, "Ah, and I might venture to the front gate as well, if my visit with Bofur doesn't take most of the light of day."

"Why would you go to the front gate?" And there was a touch of that belligerence given shape and life. 

"Because Hobbits aren't meant to spend weeks at a time underground," Bilbo told him waspishly. "If you saw my doilies well enough then surely you noticed the abundance of windows in my home? It's rather something we enjoy even in the snowy months."

"No one is suggesting that you hide yourself beneath the mountain until your hair sprouts mushrooms," Thorin said. He busied himself putting away his combs in a cunning leather case whose engravings matched those on the combs. "But if you wish to venture outside, you needn't walk as far as the front gates. Visit Bofur and this afternoon I will show you something."

"Something?" Bilbo frowned, already curious despite himself.

"Aye, something," Thorin repeated, amused. "You'll see this afternoon." A knock at the door interrupted Bilbo's attempt to pry. "That would be your breakfast."

"You needn't have breakfast brought to be every morning, I am more than capable of finding my way down to the dining hall with the others," Bilbo protested, despite his stomach's eagerness. "I could do with a little morning conversation, helps with digestion."

"Which I would be content to offer myself, but I am afraid I cannot stay," The door opened cautiously and of course Thorin chose that moment to give Bilbo a kiss that was hardly chaste. The young Dwarf carrying the trays blushed as crimson as his hair, hurriedly setting them at the table but before he could scurry out, Thorin clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Bilbo, I don't believe you've met Telchur, he's one of Bombur's and Bofur's kin and 'prenticed to the kitchen staff."

"It's a pleasure to meet any of the Company's kin and certainly one with an appreciation for food," Bilbo said honestly and the lad blushed brighter yet, though if it was for the compliment or the attention of his King, who was to say.

"Join Bilbo for breakfast, I'll send a message to the head cook that you'll be delayed," Thorin said and before Bilbo could protest he hardly needed to be assigned a breakfast companion, Thorin was striding out the door, calling back, "This afternoon!"

Bilbo sighed, eyeing the young Dwarf who shuffled his feet somewhat nervously, tugging at his wispy beard. "Well, then, have a seat, we were just speaking of your kinsman. When did you arrive at Erebor?"

It was a stroke of luck that Telchur took after Bofur and was happy for a chance to chat about his travels and exchange recipes. Bilbo listened as he tucked into his breakfast enthusiastically and did not let his mind wander to whatever it was Thorin wished to show him. He'd find out soon enough and a visit with Bofur would help pass the minutes until this afternoon.

end chapter


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

As it turned out, it was a great stroke of luck that Telchur stayed to breakfast with Bilbo. After the lad had calmed his nerves with a nice spice cake, he was eager to chat about recipes and his journey from the Blue Mountains. It was hardly the adventure that Bilbo and his companions had taken but to a Dwarf who looked as if he'd barely grown into his beard, it must have seemed a great undertaking.

To the second point, since he was kin to Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur, he knew precisely where they were staying which was not something Bilbo was intimately familiar with. Erebor was many grand and glorious things but small was not one of them. He'd had the levels explained to him a time or two, how each crafting guild had their own and each craft had its own halls for 'prentices and Masters to work. Woven through it all were homesteads and the merchant's level with its surrounding shops. To hear Balin and Ori speak of it, it was all very sensibly laid out. 

As far as Bilbo was concerned it was filled with labyrinthine stairways and walkways and corridors and he was glad to have Telchur as a guide of sorts. He let the lad chat away about the proper way to season a good mutton roast while he focused on the path, trying to commit it to memory so that he might find his way back. If it came to the worst, Bilbo supposed he'd just keep going upward until he found some place that looked familiar.

It was a fair walk down and the hallways narrowed considerably from echoing chambers to something not all that much higher than those in Bag End. Finally they came to a door that Telchur pounded on loudly enough that Bilbo winced at the echo. It swung open to show Bofur's smiling face.

"Bless my beard, Bilbo!" Bofur said cheerily. "And a cousin, besides, come in! You've missed breakfast but Bombur left a scrap or two that might do for seconds."

Telchur shook his head. "Best be back to the kitchens with me, even the word of the King willna stay my Master's temper for long. Good to meet you, Mister Bilbo, and we'll need to get you into the kitchens soon enough!"

"I'd like nothing better," Bilbo assured him. "Do come see me again."

Telchur gave Bilbo a bow and Bofur a knock on the forehead with his own that was loud enough to make Bilbo wince. Then Bofur was hustling him through the door, leading him into a cozy sitting room. It was cluttered with tools and trinkets, evidence of work in the midst of being done; rather like someone had put a tinker's shop into a box, given it a shake, and then poured it out about the room. 

Bofur was cheerfully unconcerned about the mess, offering Bilbo a chair as soon as he'd shuffled its contents onto a table, and Bilbo sat, more than a little bemused. "It looks like you've been settling in well."

"Aye, aye, me and the lads, we're making it a home," Bofur said agreeable. He took up a mug from a counter-top and Bilbo resolutely did not wince when Bofur gave the inside a quick wipe with a dubiously clean cloth before filling it from a precariously balanced barrel of ale. He plunked mug and a plateful of some sort of lumpy scones at Bilbo's elbow before settling into a seat of his own. "They offered us a place closer to topside but I'd have none of putting on those airs," Bofur said with a wrinkled nose. "Better down here closer to the forges, it's warmer at night and no one expects you to be any better than you are."

"So long as you're content, I don't see why you can't stay anywhere you like," Bilbo assured him. He took up a scone, nibbling warily, and his trust in Bombur was rewarded for appearances aside, it was delicious; filled with some sort of cheese and Bilbo added that to his list of recipes he'd need to ask after.

"Hear you've been staying in the King's quarter," Bofur said slyly, waggling his eyebrows lasciviously, "I'd wager you've been warm enough at night."

"I'm not about to gossip about my evenings, so you might as well stop with that right now," Bilbo said exasperatedly. Honestly, Dwarves could be worse than Hobbits when it came to a tasty bit of scandal, particularly since none of them were greatly familiar with the word discretion. "And as lovely as it is to chat, didn't you say you wanted to show me something?"

"Not me, it was Bifur," Bofur denied, his grin undimmed. "He should be back soon enough. Off to deliver a few of his wares about, you understand."

"His wares?" Bilbo asked, almost unwillingly curious about what Bifur might be peddling.

"Oh, aye, aye!" Bofur puffed up with pride of a chicken with a freshly laid egg. "Look, see, he's a wonderment, he is." And Bilbo found himself hustled to a worktable. There lay what seemed to be an incomplete model of sorts and with a bit of squinting Bilbo realized with a jolt that it was a dragon, each scale polished and every joint painstakingly fashioned.

"He makes…dragons?" Bilbo asked, a touch weakly.

"He makes _toys_ ," Bofur said triumphantly. "See there, that little crank? When he's finished, a tot can turn that and the wings will flap! A wonderment, aye?"

"A wonderment," Bilbo agreed. He reached out to touch a wing with the tip of his finger and when Bofur did not protest, he ran it downward, feeling each scale. "And he sells these, then?"

"No, no, no," Bofur said impatiently. "He gives them away, to the children, aye? Something of their own to have. The Laketown children and those of ours from the Blue Mountains, they've lost, all of them. A lad or lass should have something to call their own." Bofur's mouth turned down in a rare moment of pensiveness. "You can't be replacing a mum or a da, but these can bring a smile to a little one's face."

"I'm sure they do," Bilbo murmured. "That's terribly…generous of him. I must say, I'm not so sure about a toy of a dragon—"

"Little 'uns will be clamoring for that one," Bofur said dryly. Gently, he moved one of the wings and Bilbo could see how the mechanism would flap when it was finished. "Had something like it when I was a lad m'self. If you turn a nightmare into a plaything, it takes some of the fear away."

"That does make a certain kind of sense," Bilbo admitted. "And you? Do you make toys for the children?"

"Me?" Bofur scoffed, "I'm not up to those tricksy gadgets. But I've a hand for making a pennywhistle that a little one can toddle around with, and plenty of mothers and fathers get a dread when they see me coming up the lane."

"I can imagine!" Bilbo shuddered, thinking of the spring festivals and the crowds of children with their little noisemakers. "And Bifur thinks I need a toy to soothe me?"

"Can't say," Bofur shrugged agreeably and they returned to their seats. "He asked me to have you by and I'm curious as a lark myself, so we'll see when he gets back. Now," And a smirk that Bilbo was not at all pleased with curved his mouth, "About the King's quarter, why, I hear tell—"

"Do you know, I brought something for you as well," Bilbo said hastily, scrambling through his satchel until he found a small pouch. He held it up in triumph and Bofur's question faded as he eyed it curiously. "Pipe weed from the Shire, the finest there is, send by my kinfolk. Old Toby is like nothing you've ever smoked, I am quite sure!"

"Ah, there you'd be wrong, I've heard that name before," Bofur said and his eyes took on a wicked gleam. "The Blue Mountains aren't that far out of the Shire and I've been to the Green Dragon a time or two. Had it once before, I b'lieve and you tell no lies, it was like nothing I'd had before. Have a pipe, then, while we're waiting?"

"Yes, I believe that would be an excellent idea." Bilbo began packing his own pipe while Bofur cast around searching for his own. A nice, relaxing pipe and perhaps they could stop with the ridiculous questions Bofur seemed intent on asking.

* * *

"And his mouth, you've no idea," Bilbo slurred out. He waggled his toes from where they were propped on the low table and tipped his head in Bofur's direction. Bofur seemed to be having some difficulty with gravity at the moment. He was sprawled with his legs dangling over the back of the sofa and his head was nearly upon the floor, his ever-present hat clinging to his head in a way that did not make sense to man nor beast. 

Bilbo puzzled over that a moment then remembered what he'd been saying. "Ah! Yes, yes, his mouth, the things he can do with it---" Bilbo closed his eyes, pleasantly lost in the memory. 

"Aye, always had a pretty mouth, Thorin did," Bofur said agreeably. He shifted to put the stem of his pipe to his lips and narrowly avoided poking himself in the eye. "Knew a fellow like that once, came from royal lines." He sighed deeply, taking a deep puff off his pipe. "Grand and…and upstanding, he was, out and about and in the sheets it was more like wrestling with a bear." From his smile, Bilbo supposed the recollection was a fond one.

If Thorin grew more playful and relaxed with good pipe weed, then Bofur simply became more…himself. Bilbo took another deep inhale before letting out a small, contemplative stream of rings. He did not have Thorin's skill with smoke rings, but he rather thought he held his own. 

"I'm afraid I wouldn't have a comparison to that," Bilbo said idly. "He's more likely to give himself bruises than me. But it seems to be going well enough, now that we've discussed the sleeping arrangements."

"Sleeping arrangements?" Bofur echoed. "What's to discuss? Have to give each mattress a test and see which one's best?"

"The first time there wasn't a mattress at all." Bilbo peered into the bowl of his pipe at the smoldering embers, and certainly he wasn't avoiding Bofur's frowning look. "And I'm afraid I left him to wake on his own, something he found less than agreeable."

Bilbo nearly leapt out of his skin at the terrific crash Bofur made when he fell to the floor. He watched him bewilderment as Bofur scrambled up to his knees, his expression one of a mix between horror and betrayal. "You left a _King_ to wake on his own?" Bofur choked out between huffs of smoke. "What were you thinking? Were you thinking? You might as well have left a coin on the side table, of all the loose-brained, numbskull things to—"

"Well, I understand that _now!_ " Bilbo interrupted loudly. "As I said, we discussed sleeping arrangements and it's all sorted."

That seemed to soothe at least a few of Bofur's ruffled feathers. He sank back on the sofa, puffing furiously, and muttering around the bit of his pipe. "Sorted, aye, I'm certain it's sorted, bet old Dwalin would have sorted it for you otherwise. Treating Thorin of all people like—" He said a word Bilbo recognized vaguely as the one Thorin had used and been unable to explain.

"Are you quite finished?" Bilbo grumbled. "And I've no idea what that word means, you know, Thorin mentioned it as well and said it doesn't translate."

"Bad business, that's what it is,' Bofur said bluntly. "Using your _id-umral_ just for a quick roll on the sheets, bad, bad business."

"That does not clear things up for me, Bofur," Bilbo protested, only to be interrupted by the door swinging open and Bifur stomping in and any language lessons were forgotten in the face of rough hugs and a babble of more words Bilbo did not have a hope of understanding. 

"Yes, yes, it's good to see you, too," Bilbo wheezed out around a rough hug. Bifur seemed delighted to see the both of them, or at least that's what Bilbo gathered from the way the two of them chattered back and forth to each other. 

At one point Bofur held up a pipe and Bifur waved away the invitation, searching through the clutter on his worktable with fierce determination. Finally, he seemed to find what he was looking for, mumbling excitedly as he brought it over to Bilbo.

"What's this then?" Bilbo took the offering curiously. It was a small wooden box, slightly larger than a fist. The amount of detail engraved into it was astounding, flowers and vines woven through Dwarven symbols, leaves and acorns scattered about. He turned it in his hands, wonderingly, then frowning for there didn't seem to be a lid of any sort. It was just a plain, if lovely, box.

"See here," Bofur reached over and guided Bilbo's hands. He blinked in astonishment to see if the box were held just so and he pushed his thumbs against it, a piece of it slid to the side. "It's puzzle box. Keep moving pieces around like that and you'll solve it. Clever cousin, I was wondering what you were up to."

"A puzzle box," Bilbo repeated, already searching for the next piece.

"Aye! Likely something in the center, but I won't spoil the surprise by asking," Bofur tapped the side of his nose slyly. 

"Thank you very much, it's a lovely gift," Bilbo began. Before he could finish, Bifur covered both Bilbo's hands with his own gravely and learned in to whispering conspiratorially to him. Bewildered, Bilbo tried, "I'm sorry, I don't understand—" But Bifur was already moving away, seating himself at the work table and singing softly beneath his breath as he took up the little dragon toy.

"Ah, you'll have to forgive him," Bofur sighed. He took a long inhale from his pipe, let it out slowly. "Things don't always go the right way round when he's trying to speak of them."

"There's nothing to forgive," Bilbo assured him, and from Bofur's smile, it was the proper thing to say. They sat some time in companionable silence broken only by Bifur's softly droning song, smoking as friends are meant to do.

* * *

By the time Bilbo left Bofur and Bifur's home, the both of them bowing and gabbling goodbye's to him until Bilbo was stifling giggles from a leftover bit of pipe weed cheer, it was later than he'd meant. The path back to the higher levels was not quite as complex as Bilbo had feared and though he couldn't read a single rune that he'd been assured by Telchur were meant to be street signs, he did manage to recognize the ones he was supposed to be following along. 

Pausing to squint up at the engraved columns while what was fairly a crowd of Dwarves moved along around him, Bilbo paused when a certain scent caught his interest. Across the way was a cart piled high with some sort of hand pie and from the mouthwatering aroma and the line of Dwarves waiting for their share, they were sure to be delicious. Bilbo wavered, torn between being late for meeting with Thorin and his grumbling belly's protest that the walk was not a particularly short one. In the end, his stomach's voice was louder than his conscience and Bilbo joined the queue. 

Soon enough he was at the front of the line. The vendor, a gruff looking older Dwarf with a beard so long it was tucked into his belt and well away from the food, handed Bilbo a pie and waved him on, his rheumy eye already on his next patron. 

"Oh, but I haven't paid," Bilbo protested, even as he was shuffled along by the crowd.

"There's no paying for _aglazablâg_ ," grunted the Dwarf close behind him from around a mouthful of pie. "It's noontime meal."

"But—"

"It's one of the King's meals," came from his other side and Bilbo turned to find a fetching young lady Dwarf with a babe in arms and two pies laid in a basket at her elbow. Tiny bells woven into her braided beard chimed softly as she spoke, "The King provides for breaking our fast, noontime, and supper. If a Dwarf wishes for more than that, it's on their own coin."

Her smile crinkled her eyes and Bilbo smiled back at her, "That seems fair enough."

"A King provides," she said agreeably. The both of them ended up closer to one of the walls, away from the bustling crowd with Bilbo pausing to admire her child. The lady, Alrik, was a jeweler by trade and had come to collect the noontime meal for her and her husband both.

"Rebuilding goes apace," she said with bright cheer. "We might have waited until the little one was a bit older but I thought it would be best to stake an early claim in the Guilds." She jostled her son, who chortled gleefully and seemed no worse for his travels. "And you, you are the Hobbit, Master Baggins!"

"Well, yes, I suppose I am a Hobbit, I don't know that a 'the' is necessary." His pie was cool enough in his palm for Bilbo to test his teeth on the crust. It wasn't a patch on his own, chewier than Bilbo preferred, though he'd never have complained. Filled to the brim with rich gravy, potatoes, and meat, it was a meal that would drive a worker on 'till supper. 

"Do you see another?" Alrik asked teasingly and Bilbo could only shake his head, both ruefully and to keep from speaking with a full mouth. "I'd heard of you but I hadn't thought to meet you down here."

"Has the entire mountain heard of me?" Bilbo couldn't help a touch of exasperation, wondering at just what gossip had been spinning about. "And should I not be down here? Thorin said I should meet my friend and I—"

"No, no, I did not mean that! Only—" she bit her lip and leaned in closer, as though any might hear her around the bustling crowds eager for their own meal. "It's passing strange to see one who is not a Dwarf so deep within a mountain."

A truth well supported by the looks Bilbo had been garnering since he first journeyed down. Now that Bilbo considered it, the traveling caravans stayed outside the mountain and the Dwarves went to them to purchase their wares. Even the dignitaries of Men stayed only to the upper levels, something that was surely encouraged by the Guards stationed at every entryway. 

Bilbo swallowed a mouthful of pie a touch dryly. "Perhaps I should not linger, then, I've no wish to cause trouble—"

Alrik laid a hand on his arm, silencing him, "My King trusts you and so do I," she said simply. "I've heard the tales they've begun to tell and my people owe you more than we can ever repay. Now then," she added briskly, before Bilbo could offer a protest, "My husband will be chewing off his own arm if I don't get back to him. Thank you, Master Baggins, for sharing my luncheon."

"The pleasure was mine," Bilbo managed, politely, and then Alrik had vanished into the crowds, ably balancing both her little one and her basket as she made her way home. Bilbo popped the last bite of pie into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully, before beginning his journey back to the upper levels again. He would certainly be late meeting Thorin now. It was worth it, he decided, for what he'd learned. 

Now he simply had to convince Thorin of that.

* * *

It was only when he'd returned to the King's quarter that it occurred to Bilbo that he hadn't asked Thorin which of their rooms they were to meet in. They'd been in his that morning so it seemed reasonable to return to the same place. A conclusion supported by a sturdy pair of boots set neatly by his door and Bilbo hung his satchel on a hook, casting a look about. Thorin was nowhere in sight and Bilbo supposed he was in the bedroom, perhaps indulging in a nap for certainly he didn't sleep nearly enough, and Bilbo was already considering joining him, stepping up to the door with a soft word of greeting at his lips and that….that was not at all what he'd expected to find. 

Thorin was on the bed but instead of sleeping, he was leaning against the headboard, his shirt open and his trousers down around his spread knees, bare heels digging into the feather tick. Between his legs, he was stroking the hard thickness of his prick with a strong hand. Even from this distance Bilbo could see the shine of oil, the glossy, flushed head peeking out from his fist with each rub.

Bilbo swallowed hard and the urge to flee engaged in a fierce battle to stay right where he was and watch. A thick groan from Thorin decided things, his integrity falling beneath the blade of his lust, and Bilbo settled for leaning against the wall by the door.

He really was quite lovely, Bilbo admitted to himself, lovely in a way he'd never expected to find Thorin. With his head tipped back, it sent his hair in a soft cascade over his shoulders, strands of it clinging sweatily to his forehead and flushed cheeks. His mouth was open, the pink tip of his tongue pressed to his upper teeth and the sight of that tongue, the memory of what it was capable of, sent a throb through Bilbo's middle and lower. 

His beard was thicker than when they'd first met, though not hardly long enough for even the simplest braid yet. Bilbo swallowed, thinking of some of the intricate plaits and beads he'd seen about Erebor this morning. Imagining them on Thorin and perhaps he would have only a modest single braid with an aglet at the end to trail coolly over Bilbo's belly and thighs as he pressed his mouth to them. 

Thorin groaned thickly, dragging Bilbo back to the present, that deep, dragging moan of his that came when he was close and Bilbo felt an answering whimper rise in his own throat, crammed his fist against his mouth to stifle it. The bed was close enough that Bilbo could hear the slick sound of it, the rhythm of Thorin's hand working and he narrowed his eyes, watching avidly now. 

One large hand stroking the length of it, the other cupped around the head, sadly blocking Bilbo's view and he only realized at the last moment that it was to catch the hot spill of semen when he came, arching up into his own hands. Bilbo watched, greedily taking in the handsome curve of his throat as Thorin arched and moaned through his teeth. The jerk and twitch of his hips was echoed in his thighs, in the tight muscles of his stomach and Bilbo found himself wishing he'd seen it closer. Watched Thorin come over his own belly, the slick rush of it clinging like pearls in the thick curls of hair there.

It was only when Thorin's breathing started evening out that it occurred to Bilbo it might be time to sneak back out. He managed two steps before he heard Thorin call lazily, "If you'd care to come in here, I could help you with that."

Bilbo slunk in, guiltily, "I don't suppose there's a thing I could say to make this less awkward."

Thorin was still bare and unashamed, reached out to touch Bilbo's lower lip with a broad thumb. Bilbo stole a lick at the tip, tasting bland oil and sharp semen. Thorin's eyes darkened, lashes lowering as he murmured, "Did you enjoy the view?"

"I did," Bilbo admitted. He caught Thorin's hand before he could pull away, sucking lightly at his knuckle, "You were lovely."

To his delight, a flush of color rose in Thorin's cheeks, up to pink the tips of his ears. Bilbo reached up to touch that delicate skin, feel that warmth. He rubbed his thumb over the cuff, felt the symbols carved in the body-warmed metal.

"Are we shy now?" Bilbo crooned, trailing his fingers down a blushing cheek. "You'll have a wank while I'm watching without turning an eyelash, but to have me calling you pretty leaves you flustered?"

"I am not--" Thorin began, a touch hotly, though he fell silent when Bilbo set a finger against his mouth, pressing it lightly between his lips. A moment of fire-bright blue eyes glaring and then Thorin closed them, sucking lightly on Bilbo's finger. The sight of his mouth closed around that digit, lips parting to let it slip slickly out and Bilbo bit back a sound as Thorin lapped at the tip. Even white teeth nipped lightly before Bilbo drew away.

"Here, let me—" Bilbo said thickly and Thorin shook his head, his hair rasping against the pillow as he tugged Bilbo up onto the bed even as he kicked his trousers aside. Drawing Bilbo between his strong thighs and Bilbo fumbled between them for the fastenings of his trousers, sighing as he let his hardened cock free from the binding fabric. With a shaking hand he fumbled over the bed linens, muttering, "Oil, oil," beneath his breath.

Only to be ignored and he gasped aloud when Thorin reached down and took him in hand, guiding Bilbo's prick to snug in between his hard cheeks and, heavens above, he was already loose and slick inside, he must've done it himself before Bilbo came in and Bilbo groaned to think he'd missed the sight of it, missing seeing Thorin riding on his own thick fingers. 

Just thinking it was entirely too much for him, not after he'd just taken in the sight of Thorin pleasuring himself. Bilbo managed to arch his hips once, twice, and then he was already coming, lost it in the hot, sweet pleasure of it. Dropped his head down on Thorin's chest and choked whimpers into the soft fur covering it. It should have been utterly humiliating, coming like a green lad, might have been if it weren't for the soft, contented rumble that Bilbo could hear beneath his ear, the fingers trailing gently through his hair to settle at the nape of his neck. 

"I am terribly sorry about that," Bilbo finally rasped out, managing to shift enough to peer up at Thorin. Lazy blue eyes greeted him, along with a pleased smile and Thorin sighed and stretched beneath him. Thorin was strong enough to lift the both of them, his feet rubbing lightly down Bilbo's trouser-clad legs as he settled again.

"I am not in the least," Thorin sighed out. He was twirling his fingers through Bilbo's hair by then, twisting the strands as if to curl them around his fingers. 

Bilbo shook them away irritably, frowning up at him, "No, I suppose you aren't. And just how long have you been waiting for me, then?"

"Long enough to tire of it and begin on my own."

"Fair enough," Bilbo mumbled. With a wince, he managed to squirm out of the cage of Thorin's arms and legs, despite their reluctance to let them go. Only to kick aside his own trousers and settle next to Thorin again, drawing him down so that he might rest his head against Bilbo's chest as Bilbo knew he preferred. 

It allowed him to indulge in his own growing hair fetish, combing through Thorin's silky mane with tender fingers. They drowsed together for some short time before Bilbo shifted with a sigh, resting his chin on Thorin's head as he said, "I hope you don't take this the wrong way but I do hope this wasn't the surprise you had planned for me this afternoon because I think this particular gift is one I've unwrapped a time or two before." Bilbo pressed a kiss to Thorin's sweet-smelling hair. "Also, I can't say I'm especially surprised by it."

A rumble of laughter greeted that and Thorin shook his head, "It is not, I assure you. We have some little time yet."

"Hmmm," Bilbo murmured, his curiosity pleasurably banked. Together, the two of them napped away the afternoon and Bilbo dreamed of puzzle boxes and pies, and the wonders of Erebor. 

 

end chapter


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

It was rather close to dinner by the time Bilbo woke, stirring from the motion of the bed as Thorin rose. Despite the early hour, he might have been content to draw Thorin back down into the blankets and call it a night. Surely they could find some way to pass the time…

The tickle of a mouthwatering aroma stifled that fond thought as much as Thorin stepping out of Bilbo's reach. With a sigh, Bilbo scrambled from the tangle of blankets to his feet. His trousers were appallingly wrinkled from their time on the floor. He drew them on anyway with a mental shrug; Thorin had seen him in far less clothes that were in worse condition. 

Bilbo was still drawing his bracers over his shoulders when he stepped into the sitting room to find his small table laden once again with dishes, covered bowls and platters, and a likely pitcher of beer matched with a pair of mugs.

"Thorin, you honestly don't have to keep me fed at all hours," Bilbo chided. It didn't keep him from reaching for a plate. 

Thorin had chosen the beer over the platters and Bilbo paused to watch his throat work as he swallowed down a mugful. He wiped a streak of foam from his upper lip before saying, "I am not."

"Oh." Bilbo blinked. "I'd assumed--"

Thorin raised an eyebrow. "You assumed that my people would not be grateful to you and happy to offer what thanks they can?"

"When you say it like that, it sounds terrible," Bilbo huffed. "And much as I enjoy a good meal, I don't think Hobbits are THAT peckish."

"Indeed." Well, there was no call for Thorin to sound as doubtful as all that. That said, Bilbo was already lifting the silver lids, inhaling the rich aroma of the gravy. Someone, likely several someones, had gone through the trouble to bring it here, so whatever savory treats lay hidden beneath those platters deserved thorough enjoyment.

Bilbo took the time to fill two plates, handing Thorin one before laying a napkin in his lap to tuck into the second. "I already had luncheon as it is. Noontime meal, the lady called it."

That caught Thorin's attention, his fork scraping to a halt against the plate. "Noontime meal at the crafter's level? And it was well done?"

He seemed nearly anxious and Bilbo was quick to reassure him. "Of course, they had a lovely meat pie. I met a young lady with her child and she seemed well satisfied with it."

Bilbo was not imagining Thorin's relief. Once, he might have said that Thorin hid his emotions, perhaps doubted he had any past anger and arrogance. Now the tilt of his head, the quirk of his lips was as clear to Bilbo as his own hand in front of his face. For some reason Thorin had been concerned about the noontime meal of his crafters. Not that Bilbo was particularly surprised to hear it; Thorin was always one to worry about his people.

Chewing thoughtfully, Bilbo swallowed a bite before adding, "Alrik said the King provides."

"Aye, the King _should_ ," Thorin said darkly. "It has not always been possible. That is something I seek to change."

Ah, and that was Thorin as well, constantly seeking to make up for what he considered past failings, "Bofur made no mention of any complaints while we were smoking."

Thorin gave him a queer look, pushing aside his own cleared plate. "You shared your pipe weed with Bofur?"

Bilbo clucked impatiently. "Of course I did. You didn't think I'd be selfish enough to keep it only for us."

From the look on Thorin's face that was precisely what he'd expected and Bilbo was astounded. Of course, Old Toby was lovely but it wasn't _that_ dear and Thorin had never shown a qualm about sharing it his own pipe weed. It took an embarrassingly long time for Bilbo to take in Thorin's tight-lipped expression and the high color on his cheeks and put the pieces together. When it clicked, Bilbo was too dumbfounded to keep from blurting, "Do you really think I took the afternoon to share a pipe _and_ a bed with Bofur?"

Well, there was enough shamefaced guilt on Thorin's face to refill the pitcher. "Oh for heaven's sake! I know that Dwarves and Hobbits have a few conflicting habits but let me assure you now, we tend to keep our backsides in one bed at a time."

That had Thorin shifting awkwardly to his feet and there was something precious in seeing him as discomfited as a tween. He composed himself entirely too quickly, "If you're quite finished, I believe you said something about venturing outside."

"I did, yes," Bilbo took a long drink from his mug, wrinkling his nose to discover sweet mead rather than the beer he'd been expecting. If the Dwarves of Erebor were going to insist on feeding him, he might have to drop a whisper into someone's ear that, honey cakes aside, his tastes weren't those of a youngling grimacing through his first ale. He peered up through his lashes at Thorin, "I mean, if you aren't worrying that I'll throw myself at the first Dwarf who crosses our path."

"Bilbo-" Thorin began, and wasn't that a lovely scowl.

"Why, I might be able to hold myself back until we've met three, perhaps even four others," Bilbo said airily. "Heaven knows I am ever without restraint." For a brief moment, that scowl darkened, a thunderstorm clouding Thorin's face and then it cleared, turning rueful.

"You've made your point," Thorin muttered. He offered an exaggerated bow, sweeping an arm in the direction of the door. "Now, if we may, Master Baggins?"

"Of course," Bilbo agreed cheerily, laying his napkin to the side. His interest was returning as he recalled Thorin had promised to show him something. He followed Thorin curiously, only to frown as Thorin merely led him to his own door, past the guards and into a sitting room that was larger than Bilbo's but unchanged since he'd last seen it. 

"This is not outside," Bilbo complained only to exclaim aloud as a heavy cloak was rudely dropped atop his head, muffling him in wool and fur.

"No, it is not." From beneath a flap of cloak, Bilbo saw Thorin drawing on a cloak of his own. "But outside is cold and with all due respect to your barefooted nature, you'll need more than a jacket and your trousers in that wind."

In short order, Bilbo was tucked into a cloak that was very likely one of Thorin's own, for it pooled around his feet, dragging woefully behind him. "I look ridiculous."

Thorin was little help. "You are a warm ridiculous," he said, and never mind that his own cloak fit him perfectly, a blue so dark as to seem black, except for the way it drew out the pale of his eyes, and it was ruffed with heavy fur. He looked every bit the regal King and Bilbo was left to play the part of disgruntled fool, waddling along after him. Instead of venturing back through the door, Bilbo was surprised to be led further into Thorin's quarters. 

In the past months, he had seen little more than the front sitting room and the bedroom of Thorin's suite and he peered from beneath his too-large hood down the long hallways and echoing rooms. They were mostly empty, hardly a stick of furniture past the ornate statues that lined them, more Kings of the past to gaze at him disapprovingly, Bilbo supposed. Already he had chance to be grateful for the heavy cloak as not a single fireplace was lit, not a lamp past the lantern Thorin carried and Bilbo could just see the fog of his own breath.

Finally, Thorin paused, hanging the lantern on a handy hook. The wall looked the same as any other, plain gray stone and Thorin set his hands against the bare rock, leaning in close. Barely, Bilbo heard him whisper low, words that did not carry, and he watched in astonishment as a glowing arch of runes flickered a clear blue against the wall before swinging open in a thick door of stone.

Crimson-tinged sunlight poured in and Bilbo had to shield his eyes, squinting out at the glimmering blanket of snow. Once he'd blinked away the spots dancing before his eyes, Bilbo could see the entirety of the mountain lay before them, trees weighed heavily with their own snowy cloaks and there, to the very left seemed to be stairs that led downward, their carved steps already cleared of snow.

Bilbo might not have made it further than the first step, taking in the view, for he swore he could see as far as the Misty Mountains through the cold, clear air, but Thorin was already halfway down the stairs. Bilbo followed him, taking care not to trip over the long hem of his cloak because that would surely be a nasty tumble. The stairs led to a courtyard of some sort, surrounded by a railing carved from the mountain itself and if the view from the doorway had been enchanting, here it was indescribably lovely. Here he could see the new beginnings of the city of Dale, the snow-capped trees of Mirkwood. Here Bilbo thought he might be able to see the Shire itself if he could only convince the Mountains to lean just a bit to the left for a time.

Bilbo sighed aloud, coughing out a cloud of icy air as it chilled his lungs, then drew in another. He'd been so long in the mountain that Bilbo wondered if he'd forgotten how to breathe the crisp, sweet air of outside, and for a long moment, he simple stood and breathed it in. 

Soon enough, Bilbo had his fill and instead looked to Thorin, seeing him sitting on a bench. Something in his eyes, in the faint smile that curved his mouth drew Bilbo in and he'd taken two mindless steps before taking in his surroundings; benches, yes, and large stone basins and pots as well. Bilbo recognized stone planters and there were rusted hooks that hung from the mountainside that were meant to hold baskets. 

"Why, this is a garden!" he exclaimed in surprise. To the rockface there were clinging brown vines that might turn to green and roses in the spring and Bilbo could only wonder at what lay slumbering beneath the snow, waiting for the return of the warming sun.

"Aye, it is a garden, indeed," Thorin agreed. He rose to his feet and made his way to Bilbo, arms crossed beneath his cloak as he took in their snowy surroundings. "I do not remember my grandmother's face," Thorin said slowly, "It has eroded from my memory like old stone but I remember her hair. She had braids near as thick as my wrist and they hung to her waist."

"This was her garden. Whether my grandfather made it for her or simply gave it to her, I could not say, but she tended to it. She loved the sunshine and my grandfather loved her." His hand drifted over one of the statues, tracing its stone features. "I played here as a child and I remember once that I accidently dug up one of her flower beds that had yet to bloom," Thorin laughed ruefully. "She gave me the rough side of her tongue for that and made me replant every one of them."

His humor faded into softer contemplation. "I don't believe I came here again after she died. My grandfather was never the same after. It was less than a handful of years later that the dragon came."

"She sounds like a formidable woman," Bilbo ventured.

"Aye, she was."

"It's certainly a lovely garden," Bilbo mused. He trailed a hand over the leafless vines, careful of the thorns. "She must have tended to it carefully to have rose vines."

"I've no idea what she planted," Thorin admitted. "All flowers are one to me."

That made Bilbo snort aloud, "I could guess that much. Your grandmother put a great deal of care into her garden, take that from the word of someone who does the same with his own." The rose vines would need a great deal of pruning come spring, Bilbo thought absently, and wondered if Thorin would give the task to another or attempt it himself. "By the time I am back in Hobbiton, I will be too late for my own spring planting." 

A long moment of silence and then Thorin said, softly, "You could always remain here and help with this one."

Bilbo gave Thorin a startled look but his expression was of bland innocence. He laughed and shook his head, "A tempting offer to be sure, but then I'd plant it for you and be gone before I could enjoy the spoils of my efforts." Bilbo wagged a finger at Thorin as if scolding a saucy child. "I think you've gotten enough labors from me that were never in our contract."

Some of his mirth faded when Thorin lowered his head, and his own humor seemed dour. "You have more than fulfilled your contract."

"Yes, well," Bilbo swallowed and crouched low, scooping up a handful of cold snow and imagined the feel of rich earth, the damp comfort of it in his palm. "I do believe you'll have a fine garden here with or without me."

Silence greeted that and Bilbo glanced over his shoulder with a frown, "Thorin?"

Thorin was standing at the edge of the raised bed that overlooked the mountain, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared off into the distance. His hood had been drawn down and the wind caught at his hair, sending dark tendrils to whip through the air like tiny flags. For a moment, Bilbo only watched him, questions forgotten. For all that Thorin had achieved precisely what he'd meant to, Bilbo couldn't help but think he didn't seem as happy about it as he should. His eyes still sought distant dreams, perhaps, and even loftier goals than gaining a kingdom.

Bilbo blew out a sharp breath and gave himself a shake. Or perhaps he was simply tired from all the business and dealings and petty squabbles that a King seemed to deal with every hour of every day and Bilbo should stop acting like he had any idea what Thorin was looking for.

With a groan, Bilbo climbed up from his knees and joined Thorin, giving him a sly nudge with his elbow because honestly, Thorin could leave off from his worries for one afternoon. It gained him Thorin's attention at the very least and a questioning look, and, well, they were alone here, weren't they. Very alone and that made it terribly easy to rise up on his toes and press a light kiss to Thorin's mouth.

"Thank you," Bilbo said simply.

"You needn't thank me for showing you a garden you won't be able to enjoy," Thorin said gruffly, but he caught Bilbo around the waist before he could step away.

"I can enjoy it well enough as it is. But when I return home, I will know it's here and when I think of it, I'll pretend you haven't a single weed or a brown leaf," Another stolen kiss, another, and Bilbo was becoming quite tempted to put the privacy of the garden to another use entirely.

"Ah, yes, the dream of a garden from the stolen idea of a Hobbit on the mountain of Dwarves," Thorin murmured against Bilbo's mouth. "Such is the stuff of legends and tales."

"I've heard worse," Bilbo told him and then put his mouth to a better use. The dark, sweet wetness of Thorin's mouth begged for the sweep of his tongue and Bilbo was happy to grant it, hardly noticing as his numb feet were shuffled backwards until the bench caught the back of his knees, sitting him down heavily on cold stone and jarring their mouths apart.

Thorin sank to his knees before him and his eyes seemed very blue in with the snow surrounding them. The mountain lay behind him, framing Thorin in the view of Erebor, in all of Middle-earth and then he ducked his head, burrowing through the layers of the heavy cloak to bury his face against Bilbo's belly. 

Bilbo moaned, tipping his head back and choking on his own breath as chilly fingers grazed him, plucking open buttons so that wind-chapped lips could taste his skin. Each icy touch matched with a heated flick of tongue and oh, Thorin's mouth was ever an overwhelming temptation.

All his objections, that they were outside in the freezing cold, that they were in his grandmother's garden, for Heaven's sake, melted beneath the heat of that mouth and instead Bilbo wound his fingers into the chilled silk of Thorin's hair, cupped the sturdy shell of his skull into his palms and let Thorin take him into that perfect, tempting warmth.

As many times as they had done this, Bilbo was always left faintly disbelieving, hardly able to reconcile that it was Thorin's mouth upon him, and that dreamlike sensation was worsened by the uncommon tenderness, Thorin's usual enthusiasm set aside and in its place was a strange reverence, a gentle application of teeth and tongue as Thorin sucked him.

Bilbo forced his eyes open and watched through the fringe of his lashes as Thorin's cheeks hollowed and filled, his ruddy lips surrounding Bilbo's prick and the contrast of wet heat and cold air against his skin was a heretofore unknown carnal delight. All too soon Bilbo felt that telltale ache rising in his belly, creeping up his spine. With a shivering cry, Bilbo arched up, spilling hot across the plush softness of Thorin's stroking tongue and he shivered all the more to feel Thorin swallowing around him.

A touch of cold fell upon his nose and Bilbo blinked up to see snow falling, dusting them in white and he looked back down to see Thorin still kneeling at his feet, snowflakes glimmering in his hair and his lips still wet, the faintest shine of pearl on his reddened mouth. Helplessly, Bilbo leaned in to kiss him, tasting the bitterness of his own seed and the swollen heat of Thorin's lips. The sun had nearly fallen beneath the horizon by the time they parted and it was in silence that they took to the stairs, closing the heavy stone door behind them.

* * *

It was hours later that Bilbo was still in a contemplative silence, one that Thorin seemed to mirror. Damp cloaks cast aside, they'd returned to Bilbo's room and in some unspoken agreement ended up seated at the chess table, the last of the sweet mead in mugs set at their elbows.

Bilbo took in the board, considering, and without asking began packing his pipe. "Your last move has done you in. I'll have you in check in two moves."

"Oh, aye?" Thorin did not lift his gaze from the chessboard, his chin propped lazily on a hand. His posture made his braids fall forward and almost absently Thorin caught one up, twining it nimbly in his thick fingers so that the silver of the aglet flashed in the candlelight.

"Yes, aye," Bilbo mimicked, the words blurred around the pipe bit in his teeth. He puffed until it glowed a fine cherry red with heat before adding, "And there's no take backsies, so don't consider it."

"Are you insinuating that I would stoop to cheating at chess?"

"I suppose I am," Bilbo said, thoughtfully.

Instead of the hoped–for chuckle, Thorin only handed Bilbo his own pipe to fill. Which he did, puffing briskly on his own as he watched Thorin consider his options. One broad finger touched his king lightly, though Thorin did not move it. "I'll keep my cheats for better uses."

There wasn't time for Bilbo to ask whatever that meant, for just then Thorin chose to move his knight, one corner of his mouth rising in a smirk, and Bilbo was left to sputter indignantly for how had he missed seeing that move? 

His wandering thoughts were forced back to the task on hand and the two of them passed the night smoking and amicably squabbling over the chessboard, the cold snow passing over them unnoticed in the warm depth of the mountain.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

Over the months, Bilbo had found a certain fascination with Dwarven hair. Even Hobbit lasses rarely let their hair grow to the length that Dwarves seemed to prefer. For every Dwarf like Ori, with a neat, trim haircut, there were a baker's dozen with hair as long as Thorin's or longer. Thick coiled braids colored in shades that matched the autumn leaves or corkscrewed ringlets that shone in the lamplight.

Certainly Bilbo had a growing attachment to the curls attached to Thorin or he had until they chose to choke him in the night. Swiping a mouthful of clinging tendrils away, Bilbo fumbled the long locks over Thorin's shoulder to leave his back bare; all the better for Bilbo to settle atop it and breathe in the warm scent of his skin. Perhaps some of the outdoors had sneaked in through the folds of their cloaks for Bilbo swore Thorin smelled as sweet as the chilly gardens had, lovely as a breath of fresh air.

When it was that Bilbo's bed had become their place of choice for sleeping, Bilbo couldn't put a finger on. Somehow, Thorin had weaseled his way beneath the blankets without even a little bedplay before they'd drifted off. Not that Bilbo could say he minded much now, not with Thorin as a somewhat lumpy but wonderfully warm mattress beneath him.

Muffled into the pillow, Thorin mumbled, "You seem to be under the illusion that you are light as a feather. Let me be the first to assure you that you are wrong."

Bilbo only settled more of his weight atop him, "Terribly sorry, am I too heavy for the mighty Dwarf King? Shall I move?" His nose felt chilly from the wee hour and the dying fire and Bilbo tucked it into the nape of Thorin's neck to warm it.

It was no surprise to Bilbo that was the impetus Thorin needed roll over and snag him up, taking the moment to steal a sleepy kiss before he added, "I was merely making an observation."

Bilbo only hummed an agreement, fussing with Thorin's hair where it fluffed and tangled around his head, combing it out with his fingers. One long strand bent out at an odd angle and refused to obey the pressure of Bilbo's touch. "You really should braid it before you sleep, it would keep it in better order."

Thorin pressed a kiss just at the base of Bilbo's throat and sighed softly, "If I did that, I'd have no reason for you to do this."

"You could simply ask," Bilbo said, his voice catching on the last word as Thorin delicately pressed his teeth against the thin skin at his collarbone, decorating in with biting kisses.

"Mmm, no," Thorin mumbled, one hand sliding beneath the rucked up blankets, smoothing over Bilbo's bare shoulder. Breathlessly, Bilbo waited, frowning when no other words were forthcoming and though various parts of him protested vigorously, he drew back to give Thorin a stern look.

"No? That's it, just no, you'd not ask me to touch your hair even if you wanted it?" Bilbo asked disbelieving.

All his growing indignation popped like a soap bubble as Thorin looked at him through sooty lashes, lips curving into a lopsided smirk as he murmured, low, "Why, Master Baggins, it almost seems as if you want me to ask you. Is that what you wish?" His voice dropped lower, a rumble of sound, "You want me to plead for your touch?"

"I...that is...you..." Bilbo stuttered out, flustered and a hot blush crept over his face, much to his irritation. Honestly, he was lying bare to the skin right against Thorin and still that aggravating Dwarf could bring out the worst in him! Determinedly, Bilbo offered his own smile and, drat it if he felt foolish, he still blurted out, "Perhaps I do!"

Bilbo bit his lip and managed what he thought was a respectably coy look, "I think listening to you beg me for a touch might be...interesting. Yes, it might just at that."

Thorin's smirk widened to a grin and Bilbo swallowed hard as Thorin wet his lips, the pink flicker of tongue catching his eye. And then any other thought fled as Thorin tipped his head back, his hair sliding to pool messily around his head as he arched up against Bilbo, breathing out a soft, " _Please..._ "

"Oh, good gracious," Bilbo blurted out, dumbly, but that hardly stopped his hands from obeying. Indeed, they seemed quite eager to follow that throaty plea, fingers curling to drag his short nails against the bare skin of Thorin's chest, combing through soft curls.

Thorin hummed softly in approval, muttering low, "Yes, touch me, yes, please." Endless words asking for a touch, a kiss, smattered with pleas. Truly, it was altogether too much to ask any Hobbit to listen to before a hardy breakfast.

Stamina required food, Bilbo decided later when he was still feeling a touch cross about things. It certainly explained why he would fall into mindless rutting against Thorin's belly, that hoarse pleading a caress of its own. And when he choked on his breath and spilled like a Hobbit half his age might, collapsing down on Thorin, he certainly didn't deserve the laughter he received.

He might have stormed off in a sticky huff and nevermind that he could feel that Thorin hadn't followed him to his abrupt end, if Thorin hadn't still been holding him tightly. 

"Hush now, be still," Thorin said, still chuckling and Bilbo lifted his head enough to scowl at him.

"I believe you said enough for both of us," Bilbo said, and his sulkiness vanished into a sigh as Thorin took his hand and drew it lower.

"Not enough for both of us, I think," Thorin sighed out. "Do I need to beg you still?"

"Please, do."

Later, when Thorin's begging took on a desperate edge, when he was gasping and whimpering in Bilbo's grasp, when stumbling pleas melted into wordless demands and Thorin's rich voice cracked and crumbled at the touch of Bilbo's mouth upon him. Much later, when the sheets tore beneath Thorin's fumbling grip and the seed he spilled in a hot, slick rush over Bilbo's tongue was swallowed away…later, Bilbo decided that Thorin had not said nearly enough of what he should.

But that was later.

* * *

Once, many miles and a lifetime ago, Gandalf had declared that Bilbo was the perfect choice for a burglar as Hobbits were light on their feet, could sneak past most if they wished. Whether or not that was true, Bilbo could not say, but he was certainly willing to attest that whatever great skills Dwarves possessed, stealth was not generally one of them.

A point of fact that Kíli was rapidly proving and Bilbo watched, bemused, as he crept along the hallway with exaggerated strides and peered around the corner. 

Thorin and Fíli were meeting with a delegation of Dwarves from the Gray Mountains this morning, Bilbo knew, and Dwalin and Balin were surely with them. Whether they had simply not noticed Kíli's absence or they had encouraged it, Bilbo could not say, but he could admit to enough dratted, Tookish curiosity to find out. 

Kíli was still at the corner, his hair whipped around his head as he looked keenly back and forth, and Bilbo walked up behind him in his normal stride to join him in looking at the empty corridor. 

"Are we looking for anyone in particular or is this some Dwarven custom that I am unfamiliar with," Bilbo asked politely. Kíli squealed loudly enough for the echo to carry, not a great assistance to his stealthy intentions and Bilbo added his own startled yelp to it as Kíli grabbed his arm and dragged him down the hallway to a door. He thrust Bilbo inside and followed him, closing it behind him and leaving them in the dark, cramped room.

"Have you lost your mind?" Bilbo hissed, quite certain that the answer was yes, certainly, and with vigor.

"No!" Kíli whispered, fiercely indignant. "I'm trying to hide from the King's Guard!"

"Naturally, why did I not think of that before?" Bilbo sighed. There was an ache that had begun to rise right between his eyes. "Kíli, why are we hiding from the guard?"

" _We_ aren't hiding, _I_ am, and Uncle said that if I can sneak past the guard, then I can go to Dale."

"I would say that since we are both in…is this a broom closet?" Bilbo squinted around them and shrugged. "Since _we_ are both here, I would say that, yes, _we_ are hiding from the guard."

"You don't need to go to Dale!"

"I also don't need to be in this closet, and yet…so Thorin really told you that if you sneak past the guard you can go to Dale?" Bilbo didn't have to stretch his imagination to see the reckless smile that surely graced Kíli's face. That ache was rising to a throb and Bilbo rubbed between his eyes with thumb and forefinger; if he ever took the time to name his headaches, he suspected a quarter of them would be named Kíli's Bane.

(It wasn't worth trying to calculate how many would be graced with the title of Thorin.)

"We-ell," Kili drawled, drawing out the word in a way that did not give Bilbo much confidence in his answer. "Not in so many words, but I know that's what he meant."

"Indeed," Bilbo shook his head, "Well, there's no one in the hallway, and unless there's a hidden door in here, I suggest we take our leave of the closet." Without waiting for Kíli to agree, Bilbo opened the door and left him to scramble after, the both of them skirting past the guard and making their way down a narrow off-shoot of the passageway. 

"You're going to help me?" Kíli asked and his glee was a palpable presence. 

"I may," Bilbo whispered, pressing a finger to Kíli's mouth to hush him, "If you promise not to tell anyone that I had anything to do with this foolishness." 

Kíli clapped a hand over his mouth and mimed silence, and Bilbo could only hope that was a promise he was capable of keeping. True to his word, or lack thereof, Kíli was as silent as Bilbo suspected was possible thus proving that one could do anything when they were properly motivated. Sneaking off to Dale, indeed, as though there were a soul in Erebor who couldn't guess exactly who Kíli was going to see there. If the Dwarves of Erebor were feeding on a steady diet of gossip over Thorin and Bilbo, then they were gorging themselves on a feast over the scandalous rumors over Kíli's love life. Bilbo had made a valiant attempt at ignoring it; he was more familiar with the knowledge that others were speaking of him behind his back than he was comfortable admitting and didn't care to share in Kíli's dishonor alongside it. Some whispers still found their way into his ear and while Bilbo had not voiced a thought on the matter, he privately hoped Kíli found some happiness, no matter whose arms it was in.

In no little time they'd managed to wrangle their way to the main gate and if Kíli's intention was to blend into the mob to make his way outside, then this was the best place to attempt it. There were crowds down there of Men and Dwarves alike; builders and workers, merchants with their wares journeying both inside and out. If Kíli had any hope of avoiding the sharp gaze of the King's Guard, the main gate was the spot.

Although perhaps not if he was accompanied by the only Hobbit in the Kingdom.

Before he could shoo Kíli off in the direction of the gate, he lost his breath as strong Dwarven arms wrapped him in a fervent hug, Kíli near lifting him off his feet in his enthusiasm.

"All right, that's enough of that," Bilbo wheezed, and he hoped that creaking sound was not his ribs.

He was set back on his feet gently and Kíli's smile shone as bright as a star, "Thank you, Bilbo! I'll be back soon, I promise."

If he wasn't, Bilbo wasn't looking forward to confessing to his part in any of this. He began to wave Kíli's gratitude away, more than ready to make his escape, when something caught his eye. A braid, of the like that Kíli had never worn, and unthinkingly, Bilbo reached for it, only remembering Thorin's warning about the beads when Kíli's delight shifted to a shocked frown and he nearly scrambled back to avoid Bilbo's touch.

"Don't—" he yelped and Bilbo snatched his hand back guiltily.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry!" Bilbo held his clasped hands against his chest as though afraid they'd wrestle free on their own. "It's only I've never known you to wear a braid before, it took me by surprise."

Perhaps it was lucky Bilbo had forgotten himself with Kíli, for his thunderous brow cleared almost instantly, his temper forgotten and he captured his own braid between his fingers and held it out encouragingly for Bilbo to see. The aglet matched the one on Thorin's newest braid, Bilbo realized, the one he'd bound himself the other morning.

"Not usually one for braids, no, but I've found my One, my heart," Kíli sighed gustily, "Uncle wasn't particularly happy about it but once you've found them there's nothing for it but to take the braid."

"Take the braid?" Bilbo echoed, blinking. Realization was blooming in the back of his mind like a thistle that had taken hold in a tomato patch. Kíli only nodded happily, his grin that of an adoration-soaked fool.

"Aye," Kíli said blissfully, oblivious to Bilbo's growing awareness. "I made the aglet myself, only way to do it, really. What with so many Dwarves coming in from all parts, didn't want to risk walking around unbraided." Kíli tapped the side of his head and winked slyly, "Didn't want anyone else to get the idea I was unclaimed."

"Indeed?" Bilbo asked neutrally. He ignored the sour taste at the back of his mouth, the growing tightness in his throat. "So when you find your one you both agree to a braid to mark it, is that it?"

"If only it were that easy," Kíli sighed. He laid a spread hand over his heart. "You feel it here but there's no promise they will love you in return. I'm lucky, she…" Kíli paused, his brow drawing down in suspicion. "Thorin took the braid half a month ago, why are you asking now...oh." His foolishly happy grin dropped off his face with the abruptness of a shattered glass. It took not a guess to know that Kíli had drawn a conclusion and did not like what it was, his expression melting into horror. "Oh, Bilbo, he's going to murder me, you can't—" 

"I'll be happy to lay a flower wreath at your funeral," Bilbo said tightly. "Excuse me, I believe your uncle and I are due a conversation." With a short nod, Bilbo walked away, his heartbeat a deafening roar in his ears. Dimly, he heard the shouts of the guard mingled with Kíli's pleas for him to return, and did not pause to look behind him.

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

Dwarves were a friendly enough folk and Bilbo was often greeted with nods and smiles. Something of his mood must have shown on his face for not a single Dwarf he passed gave him more than a glance. One or two even moved hastily out of his way, something that might have amused him if it weren't for the cold, clear fury that was swelling in his chest. 

"Just a braid," Bilbo muttered beneath his breath, "Just a simple little braid that just happens to appear after we start sharing a bed, oh, yes, and we must share a bed, mustn't we, anything else would be dishonorable, I'm sure."

Negotiations with Dwarves were held deeper in the mountain, down past the Hall of Moons. The rocky walls pebbled with chunks of milky stone had fascinated Bilbo the first time he'd seen it and on the full moon the light poured through it by way of a cunning set of mirrors, or so Bilbo was told. He'd only marveled at the beauty at the time and at the cleverness of Dwarves. 

"Not so very clever," Bilbo snarled aloud and he ignored the way the guard startled at his post except to absently muse that Dwalin would have had him taken him sharply to task for it. Hardly his problem and forgotten by the time he reached the heavy door. 

Slamming the door open would have been a juvenile satisfaction. Bilbo might have indulged in it anyway if he'd been able to, but as it was, the door was heavy enough that simply opening it was all he could manage. 

Whatever discussions had been held with the Dwarves of the Gray Mountains seemed to be over as there were none in the room. Only Balin, Dwalin, and Fíli remained alongside Thorin, all of them engrossed in studying a large piece of parchment, or at least all but Dwalin. 

Before Bilbo could spit out a word of his fury, Thorin lifted his head and caught sight of him. He smiled broadly, his pleasure at the sight of Bilbo lighting in his eyes and all of Bilbo's righteous anger simply wilted out of him, left him feeling weak and dismayed.

Because now that he knew to look for it, he could see it. And how foolish was he to think that this was some sort of....of affectation for Thorin. He shone like Kíli, like a star, only for Bilbo instead of an Elf maid and bugger all if Bilbo could think of her name. Oh, this was a terrible discovery and for one, brief moment, Bilbo wished fervently that he could take back this morning. Take it all back, cast it off to where dreams fled in the morning light and he could be waking again in his borrowed bed, curled into the warmth of Thorin's arms and knowing nothing more than taking pleasure with a good friend.

It was not a grace to be granted to him for he still stood in silence and now it was with the attention of four Dwarves, one of whom thought Bilbo was to be in the library until this afternoon. 

Thorin's eyes were shaded to curious, his brow drawing down, and Bilbo finally cleared his throat and mumbled out, "Can we speak privately?"

"Of course." Thorin tilted his head to the door and the others filed out, though Fíli cast something of a worried look back at them. Did he suspect, Bilbo wondered, had he guessed…well, of course he'd not have to guess, he'd know precisely what that new braid that hung behind Thorin's ear meant, the one that Bilbo had thought so innocent and had turned out to be anything but.

The door closed quietly and Bilbo took a breath, another, struggling to gather his thoughts through the tangle of his anger and frustration. Thorin only settled into his chair and clasped his hands between his knees, waiting with a patience that only a few weeks past Bilbo would not have suspected existed. It was Bilbo who was impatient instead, pacing in front of him, a hundred words rising to his lips only to be cast aside as wrong, wrong, what was he to _say_?

"Who's been telling tales?" It took a moment for the words to even register and when they did, Bilbo whipped his head around to gape at Thorin, mouth open and his thoughts stumbling to a stop. 

"What?" Bilbo said blankly.

"Who has been carrying tales," Thorin repeated patiently. "You asked to speak to me privately and you look as if you've come from a funeral. Who's been carrying tales to you?"

"What makes you think anyone told me anything?" Bilbo hedged. 

"Kíli, then," Thorin decided. "He took the braid himself, I'm sure he'd not be able to resist bragging about it."

"All right, I--yes, then, yes!" Bilbo snapped, chest heaving as words finally surged from him, spilling thoughtlessly. "Imagine my surprise to find I've been---been married off in some Dwarven ceremony without question or permission! Oh, no," Bilbo shook his head firmly, clenching his hands. "No, no, no, I can stand knowing people thought we were sharing a bed before I'd even considered it, but this is completely unacceptable, no—"

"Why would anyone think we are married?" That was filled with enough bewilderment to give Bilbo pause and he stopped, mouth dropping open again. He shut it with a click, stomping over and snatching up the braid to dangle it in front of Thorin's eyes as if it had been forgotten.

"This!" Bilbo shook it and the aglet bounced and bumped against Thorin's forehead. "This right here! Kíli said when a Dwarf finds their one, there's nothing for it but to take the braid and this, as you so eloquently told me, is a braid!"

"It is," Thorin agreed, and his voice was achingly soft. "Kíli spoke true, when a Dwarf finds their One, there is nothing for it but to take the braid and so I did." He spread a hand over his chest, over his heart. "It is felt here, deep within, and once it takes hold—"

Bilbo huffed out an impatient breath, "Well, that's—that's just lovely for you! Did you not think that I might want to have a choice in the matter?"

"But you do," That confusion made Bilbo want to tear out hanks of his own hair or perhaps Thorin's would be more satisfying. "Bilbo, I cannot speak for your heart, I can only speak for my own."

"You had me braid it yourself!" Bilbo accused. "You sat me in your lap and had me bind that very braid for you!"

"Aye, I did," Thorin agreed, bewildered. "But there was no...no symbolism to it, Bilbo, I merely wished for you to touch me. Surely that is not so difficult to believe?"

Bilbo let out a pained laugh, "I don't know what to believe! You are trying to hold me here, is that it?"

"No," Thorin denied, softly. "How could I do that, knowing how it feels to be so far from home?" He sighed, rubbing at his brow and Bilbo had a rude hope that Thorin had a throbbing headache to match his own. "This is why I did not tell you, I knew you felt not the same and I did not want to face your temper."

"My temper!" Bilbo said, outraged.

"Aye, your temper!" Thorin snapped, "I only ask that you tread carefully—"

"Oh, and now you're threatening me, are you?" Bilbo challenged. He took a reckless step closer, nearly sneering into Thorin's face. "I should tread carefully or else what?"

Thorin looked wretched, whatever light had been in his eyes was now only beseeching. "I only ask that you tread carefully upon my heart."

Oh. Bilbo closed his eyes. "Do not do this."

"It is done, Bilbo."

Bilbo cast about, searching for something to say and blurted, "So why not tell me!"

"Because you are leaving."

"So you chose not to say a thing to me about it?"

"I did," Thorin said simply. "What did you expect from me, that I should try to force you to stay? Should I have begged you? Pleaded with you to stay at my side?"

"No, but you--Thorin, you can't simply bind yourself to me," Bilbo said wearily. 

"I can do as I like." And there was a hairline fracture in Thorin's eerie calm, belligerence seeping through. "If you choose not to keep my heart then don't pretend you're allowed to command it."

" _You_ are the one with a choice! If you chose it then you can unchoose it! This is, not…no, this is not what…in a few weeks I am going back to the Shire where I belong, Thorin.

"I know."

"You see, then?" Bilbo latched onto that slender hope eagerly. "That's exactly it, you know, you already know how it ends so you can stop this right now."

Thorin said nothing and Bilbo sank into his own chair in defeat for Dwarven stubbornness was a legend of its own and if Thorin had decided on this course then little Bilbo could say would sway him.

"I have my own choice, then, do I?" Bilbo spoke it to the ceiling, as though it might have better sense. Likely not, it was, after all, carved by Dwarves.

"Always."

"And if I decide that I do want to bed Bofur?" Bilbo challenged.

That drained a bit of Thorin's aggravating serenity. His jaw worked for a long moment and then Thorin gritted out, "Your body is yours to do with as you like. I would only ask…" He bit off whatever request he'd been about to make with a shake of his head. "Your body is your own, as is your heart."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, I'm not about to slip between the sheets with Bofur," Bilbo sighed out. "I am not merely in something of a strop, Thorin, this is…I am not going to allow you to do this."

Thorin merely raised an eyebrow and Bilbo ground his own teeth so hard he expected to cough on dust. "And how, pray tell, do you intend to stop me?"

"To begin with, we're not to share a bed anymore."

Not so much as a glimmer of a reaction. "If that's what you wish."

"Of course it's not what I wish," Bilbo snapped, "But if you insist on pursuing this ridiculous notion then I'll have to take strong measures!"

Thorin closed his eyes, took a slow breath and let it out, "Bilbo, I do not ask you to return my affections but I would ask that you not call the ways of my people ridiculous."

"The ways of your people are perfectly sound, _you_ are the one who is ridiculous. I—I can't do this, I truly can't." Dimly, Bilbo realized he was trembling, shaking with too many emotions to name. "Keep to your own room tonight, I'll not be answering my door. We'll have to speak again tomorrow."

"Very well." Thorin stood and Bilbo did not move, allowed him to take his leave. Briefly, he hesitated by Bilbo's chair and he could not help a flinch, expecting a touch to land on his arm, his hair, somewhere. Instead, Thorin only walked away and left Bilbo alone with the dreadfully final thud of the closing door. 

Bilbo pressed a trembling hand over his mouth. "Just a braid," he mumbled into his palm and silence was the only reply.

* * *

It was strange how quiet his rooms seemed tonight. Bilbo sat curled up on the hearth rug, buried in the heavy folds of a blanket and his feet tucked beneath him. Every sound seemed magnified, the crackle of the fire, the drag of the blanket against the rug. 

His stomach growled hopefully, noting that there was the lovely smell of supper in the air. Bilbo ignored it, much the same way he'd ignored the young Dwarf who'd brought the platters. After Thorin had left him in the Hall of Moons, he'd sat a while longer, torn between not thinking at all and thinking terribly hard about what to do about this…this problem.

In the end, he'd decided that Not Thinking was the better choice and he'd gone straight back to the King's quarter and shut himself into his room. He'd had quite enough of Dwarves for today. 

Still, it was terribly quiet.

Sleep would help, Bilbo decided. Yes, sleep, everything seemed…well, if not better than at least different after a good night's sleep and with a groan, he staggered to his feet. The small candle flame led the shadowy way to his bed and Bilbo set aside his dressing gown and made to climb in. Hesitated with only the corner of the blanket drawn down and instead he turned and sat. Quiet, yes, it was so very, terribly….quiet, in here alone. Alone, and far from home, and…and…

He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, an eternity, with his head in his hands. His own hair was longer than it had ever been, easy to grip, to tug, and Bilbo did, relishing that small pain. Sat and did not think.

Then he stood and drew on his dressing gown. He walked on soundless feet through his sitting room and the door opened on silent hinges. The corridor was not so terribly long and the main hall opened up in front of him with its high ceilings and stairs, all the doors that led to various rooms in the King's quarters. Thorin's room, the King's room, was set furthest away and the ever-present guards stood at their station, not so much as tipping their heads as Bilbo passed by them in nothing more than his dressing gown and nightshirt.

The door was twice as tall as Bilbo was, ornate and carved of some hard wood instead of stone. Mahogany, perhaps, or oak, a hardy enough wood that Bilbo's fist felt bruised when he pounded on it, no mere knock but a fierce hammering, until he was forced to rest against the door, dropping his forehead against it and breathing was like a sob.

Again, an endless moment of waiting and then the door swung open, nearly sending Bilbo sprawling to the floor. He swayed on unsteady feet and looked to where Thorin stood in the open doorway. His only concession to the late hour was his bare feet and this close Bilbo could smell the heaviness of drink on his breath though there was no sign of it in his eyes. 

He'd been sitting in front of the fire, perhaps, and Bilbo could see it in his mind, clear as a picture. Sitting with a mug at his elbow, hardly touched, staring into the dancing flames and perhaps toying with the end of his braid and--

"I'm still leaving come spring," Bilbo blurted, and oh, this was wrong, how could he consider doing this?

"I know," Thorin said, low, and he held open the door.

"So long as we understand each other," Bilbo muttered and he took a long breath, let it out before he stepped inside. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, no, you can't go back that way...we have to go forward to go back...


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

Bilbo had hardly stepped over the threshold when the heavy wood slammed shut behind him. His breath was lost in a jarring thud as he was shoved against it, lifted up on his toes as his mouth was stolen in a desperate kiss that crushed his lips against his teeth until Bilbo could taste the faint tang of blood. He caught up a messy handful of Thorin's hair and yanked hard, then harder still until he gentled the kiss. More tender, perhaps, taking Bilbo's mouth with more care but hardly less fierce. 

Strong hands slid down his sides and caught beneath his thighs, hoisting him up higher and Bilbo moaned helplessly into Thorin's mouth, biting his lower lip in punishment. 

"Stop," Bilbo tried, twisting his head away from Thorin's and the _sound_ he made, near to a whine of protest, sent a hot throb of need. "Stop!" Bilbo repeated, louder, and he fought against Thorin's grip, squirming. "You aren't manhandling me this time, put me down!"

Slowly, Thorin drew away from him, his expression twisted with something like anguish. Panting through swollen lips and his arms quivered with reluctance before they slowly began to lower him. 

He felt every carving in the wood through his thin nightshirt as he slid down the door, inch by slow inch, until his feet touched the ground again. Thorin took a bare step back, his hands moving restlessly down Bilbo's arms, his sides, as if unable to completely obey. It suited Bilbo well enough and he took a double fistful of Thorin's shirt and pulled, yanking and bullying him until Thorin stood with his back against the door.

"You'll listen to me?" Bilbo demanded. "You'll do as I say?"

"Aye," Thorin said hoarsely, instantly. 

"Good," Bilbo took a deep breath, another, trying to settle himself. Already he was achingly hard and that wouldn't do for what he had in mind. "Take off your shirt."

He watched as Thorin drew the voluminous garment over his head, the way his belly drew taut, the flex and bulge of his well-muscled arms as he raised them over his head. Thorin cast it to the ground without taking his eyes from Bilbo. 

"Put your hands behind your head."

Again, Thorin obeyed him without question, folding his hands behind his head and it left him utterly exposed, vulnerable and powerful at the same moment. Greedily, Bilbo took in the sight of him. The ripe roundness of his bicep, the light patch of hair beneath each arm and the full pelt of it on his chest, the way the ring threaded through his nipple shone in the candlelight, begging for a touch. The flatness of his belly, only the slightest hint of softness in comparison to the Hobbit's ample plumpness to which Bilbo was accustomed. His trousers were loose and held in place with a drawstring, meant for sleeping or lounging on a sofa, as far away from the regal nature of his Kingly attire as Bilbo's nightshirt. 

An embarrassment of riches, always, and Bilbo finally obeyed the strongest calling, laid his hands at Thorin's side, bracing himself as he leaned in to lap softly at Thorin's ringed nipple. It was already tight in the night-cool room, a hard bead against his tongue and Bilbo worried at it, catching the ring in his teeth and tugging gently. 

Thorin hissed out a groan through his teeth, his hips shifting impatiently and even through their clothes Bilbo could feel the heat of Thorin's prick as it bumped lightly against his belly. 

Undeterred, he leaned away slightly, raising his head long enough to admonish, "Stop that." He didn't wait to see if Thorin obeyed, only ducked his head and licked that small, hard nub again, felt the ring click against his teeth.

He rubbed his hands up and down Thorin's sides, thumbs stroking, smoothing over skin and here there was a scar, damaged flesh left bone-white and stark against Thorin's side. Bilbo didn't look, only traced it with his fingertips, choosing instead to lavish his attention on the other nipple, hard as its brother and seemingly lonely without a ring of its own.

His hand settled on Thorin's belly, nestling into the crisp curls of hair and Thorin's breathing seemed all of a sudden louder, edging on a gasp. Still, Bilbo lingered, suckling at his nipple and was it ridiculous to find them so lovely on a male? It was a deep pinkish-brown nubbin that he circled with the tip of his tongue, wetting it generously before rubbing it against his lips. Lovelier yet was the sound Thorin made as he did it, every exhaled fringed with a low whine. 

"Keep still," Bilbo breathed out, let his hot breath caress wet skin. 

Thorin was broader than Bilbo, his hips angular without the layer of cushiony padding most Hobbits possessed. Bilbo followed the line of the bone with his thumbs and hesitated at the edge of Thorin's trousers. He pressed a kiss to the middle of Thorin's chest, let his lips linger in a damp slide before plucking at the drawstring with only the tips of his fingers. Gingerly, Bilbo tucked a finger into the front, careful not to touch skin, and guided them past the hard rise of Thorin's cock. 

The loosened waistband offered no protest, slithered down past Thorin's legs and hips to puddle on the ground with a whisper of sound. Thorin left them as they were, Bilbo noted giddily, did not kick them away, obeying Bilbo's word.

Bilbo swayed, dropping slowly to his knees and he let his hands trail after him. Allowed them to wander behind Thorin to cup the firm globes of his arse, fingertips drifting down the cleft though not venturing inward, and lower, scratching his nails through the dusting of hair on Thorin's broad thighs, roped with muscle and taut, braced to hold Thorin up as he slouched against the door. Bilbo traced another scar, took a moment to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss against it, let his hands sweep lower yet, stroked the soft well behind Thorin's knee, his calves, down to where his feet were hidden in the soft puddle of fabric. 

At his guidance, Thorin lifted first one foot then the other, pants cast aside and only then did Bilbo sit back on his heels, taking in the full sight of Thorin bare before him. 

_Beautiful_. "Beautiful." Bilbo only realized he'd spoken aloud when Thorin shook his head, though whether in denial or desperation, Bilbo did not know. "Beautiful," he repeated, insisted, and he was. No Hobbit, like no other lover Bilbo had taken, Thorin was a creature of strength and scars, pale from months lacking the sun, from the damp fall of his hair at the crown of his head to his toes curling away from the chill of the floor, Thorin was lovely as he was. 

Braced against the door, his arms taut, trembling with the effort of keeping his hands clutched behind his head, and his feet spread apart. Braced, yes, he was steadying himself against what Bilbo might, would, do and finally Bilbo let his eyes fall between his legs to where his prick was rising heavy, full and wet-tipped and Bilbo reached for it almost dreamily, already imagining the feel of it in his hands, on his tongue. 

"Wait!" Thorin blurted and Bilbo did, holding perfectly still. Thorin's chest rose and fell frantically, heaving for air and Bilbo did not move, giving him time to think, to speak.

"You should not have to—" Thorin broke off, shaking his head, "You do not need to _service_ me."

"You let me, before," Bilbo said softly, unaccusing. Though even then it had taken no little persuasion, he recalled. 

Thorin nodded jerkily. "But before-- you did not know, you are _mabukhmâ_ , one who claims nothing, you do not need to—"

"And if I want to? I want to feel your pleasure, Thorin."

He shook all the harder, "You should not, I should be the one, I should—"

"Thorin," Bilbo broke in. He fell quiet, only his harsh breathing mingling with the crackle of the fire. "Do you want me to stop?"

Silence, balance on a knife-blade and then, hardly more than an exhale, "No."

His shout echoed through the room as Bilbo took him in, sucking at the slick head. His hand wrapped around the base, shifting the foreskin and Bilbo moaned, more vibration than sound as that gave him more of tip to suck. More to work his tongue against, more to press softly against his palate as he took Thorin deeper, breathing loudly through his nose as he swallowed and swallowed again. Saliva was welling in his mouth as though his body was eager for the taste of it, slipping past his lips to trail down his chin. It was gloriously messy, left Bilbo slick to the wrist even as he tried for _more_ , working his way down and then up again.

Thorin was shaking fiercely against him, a distraction, and Bilbo looped an impatient arm around his hips, pulling until Thorin took a stumbling step forward and pushed deeper inside. Barely, Bilbo kept from choking, backing away from the sudden depth only to drive forward again, taking as much of the shaft as he could until his jaw ached and spots wavered before his eyes.

He managed one, two, deep sucks before he withdrew with a wet, obscene sound, left his mouth at the tip as he murmured, "Thorin?"

There were no words in response and Bilbo looked up through his lashes to see blue eyes blazing down at him, Thorin glaring at him and heaving breaths through his clenched teeth. Deliberately, Bilbo lapped across the slickened tip, let the fluid seeping from the tip gloss his lips and swore he heard bones creaking as Thorin's arms tensed. 

"Thorin," Bilbo repeated, "Give me your hand."

It took him a long moment to release his grip, lowering his hand to Bilbo. Shaky, hot fingers wrapped around his own and Bilbo guided them to his head, let them settle and sift through his hair before he let Thorin slide between his parted lips again. Thorin made no attempt to guide him, his touch light, almost uncertain, as Bilbo found a rhythm and followed it with hand and mouth, stroking his wet fist up the shaft, then down, lips touching the circle of his fingers. Let his tongue cushion against the hard edge of his teeth and listened to every choked breath that came from Thorin in a desperate burst. 

In the end, he felt the moment Thorin's breath began to stutter, the way his hand fumbled to rest against his nape and with a last hard, wet suck, Bilbo sat back on his heels. He shifted his grip and kept it tight, stroking the shaft in firm pulls. The hand in his hair twitched, fingers tightening though Thorin made no attempt at protest or to force his head back down. Not that Bilbo had expected such, not from him. 

He looked up to see Thorin had closed his eyes, his head resting against the door and still it was a lovely sight. A light sheen of sweat sent his skin to glisten, the curls of his chest hair damp and tight. Watched the muscles of his belly tense and loosen with every stroke of Bilbo's hand, the sight of his slick, hard cock sliding wetly in Bilbo's grip, just of a size that his fingers did not meet around it. Beneath it, his bollocks were drawing up tight, so very close, and Bilbo leaned in to press a kiss to the velvety skin, felt as much as heard Thorin's voice crack on a shout. That trembling worsened, time was growing short and yet…

"Thorin," Bilbo said and he liked the hoarse note to his voice, liked knowing what had caused it, "Thorin, look at me…Thorin!" Sharply enough that Thorin's head lolled downward, his eyes slit open. Hazy blue met Bilbo's gaze, lost and pleasure-dark. 

"There we are," Bilbo crooned, "Keep looking at me…there, that's it, don't look away…don't…don't…"

Even as Bilbo spoke, Thorin's eyes narrowed, though they never left his. Even as Thorin choked out a moan, even as he came in a slick, hot pulse over Bilbo's hand, streaking up his chest and belly, dripping down the damp tangle of curling hair. He did not look away as he staggered back against the door, his knees failing and Thorin sank downward, gulping in great, gasping breaths and he sprawled there in an ungainly heap, legs akimbo and his hands lay open and empty on the floor. 

His bleary eyes never left Bilbo's, hardly flickered when Bilbo carelessly scrambled into his lap. Bilbo yanked his nightshirt out of the way without bothering to remove it, circled his prick with a hand still wet with Thorin's seed and groaned through gritted teeth at the feel. By all the heaven's, he ached, he needed this, stroked himself with a fiercer grip than he would have dared on Thorin. Not quite slick enough and the burn of friction was better, more there, more real, and Bilbo panted as he rode his own fist, reaching for a climax that skittered away from him with every stroke. 

He'd hardly done more than whine in frustration, his narrowed gaze still locked with Thorin's, when a trembling hand settled on his own, the palm grazing against the swollen head and that was it, enough to edge him over and it was Bilbo who finally broke their stare, buried his face against the base of Thorin's throat and he could smell their sex, lovely sweat and semen-soaked, and whatever it was Thorin had been drinking. Beneath it all, under the layers of it, was the faintest hint of pipeweed.

Bilbo jolted as though struck, clutching at Thorin, his frantic hand skating over shoulders and hair, and the other hand twitched beneath Thorin's on his prick as he came for what felt like forever, muffling his cry into Thorin's throat and he dimly felt a hand settle in his hair again, stroking, soothing. 

With an exhausted shudder, Bilbo finally struggled upright, braced his slippery hand on Thorin's chest to push himself up. Thorin looked as weary as he felt, sagging lopsidedly against the door. His lips were bitten and chapped, and it didn't stop Bilbo in the least from leaning in and stealing a clumsy kiss. Mouths sliding wetly, teeth clacking, and when Bilbo drew back, he murmured hoarsely, "You were smoking."

"Aye, I was," Thorin husked out. "Did you want a pipe?"

Bilbo didn't ask when Thorin had scarpered off with a bit of his Old Toby. The both of them were sticky and shivering as the sweat cooled on their skin, Thorin still bare and Bilbo in his wrecked nightshirt. He only sighed and bit lightly at Thorin's chin through his beard, gnawed a gentle path up to his ear to say, "I should certainly say I do. Come along, we'll finish the lot of it."

* * *


End file.
